


Suicide King

by la_vie_en_gris (lastdreamofmysoul)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Cardverse, Drama, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-02-23 09:31:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 32,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2542763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lastdreamofmysoul/pseuds/la_vie_en_gris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a deadly disease strikes, peace in the five Kingdoms is disrupted and desperation pushes the Kings and Queens to their limits. Lovino Vargas, King of Aces, has a heart that can cure the sickness once and for all but to do so, he must be sacrificed. With only one Kingdom able to use his heart, war erupts in a mad rush to capture the King. Lovino has to choose between his brother and his people, but his decision is made tough by his overprotective Queen and strangely, the overly-cheerful new guard who seems to see Lovino as someone more than “Your Majesty”.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! This is my first time writing fanfiction, so I apologise in advance if my writing's really bad or if the characters seem OOC. Anyway, I really wanted to do a Cardverse AU and I added a Kingdom of Aces, which will later on play a huge part in the story so I hope that's fine! 
> 
> As mentioned, it's my first time writing so I hope you can comment any suggestions on how I can improve and do tell me if I should continue my story!
> 
> Thank you and I hope you enjoy. :)
> 
> Oh yes, in case you're wondering about the title, I read that a King card is also often dubbed the "Suicide King" because he has a sword through his head, and the title will make sense later on in the plot that I have planned out. :D

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Lovino discovers his Mark, he willingly takes up the responsibility of being King. And not even the secret his grandfather tells him will stop him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note (UPDATED, as of 20/11/14): Hey there! Firstly, for those who have started reading already, I apologise for the mess-up of chapters! One of my very helpful reviewers on ffnet has kindly pointed out the really bad structuring, which I have amended and hopefully it's better now. :) I have changed the order such that the story opens with Lovino first, and then goes around the other Kingdoms so as to give you readers a clearer idea as to how the other Kingdoms are run (haven't touched on the Kingdom of Hearts yet though) and also the backstories of the Royals! If you're still a bit confused, here's a brief "content page":
> 
> Chapters 1-2: Lovino visits his Kingdom, and his grandpa as well.
> 
> Chapters 3-5: Ivan and Elizabeta are introduced.
> 
> Chapter 6: Lovino writes a letter to Feliciano.
> 
> Chapters 7-8: Francis and Jeanne are introduced.
> 
> Chapter 9: Alfred, Yao and Arthur are introduced.
> 
> Chapter 10: Lovino and Antonio dance at the Kingdom's celebration.
> 
> A big thank you for those who have reviewed/favourited/followed/read/stuck around so far. :D
> 
> For those who have not read this story before, welcome! I don't have much experience writing fanfiction, hence I apologise if my grammar seems really bad or if the characters are OOC. But I really wanted to write a fic with a Cardverse AU so I hope it's suited to your tastes too! I've also added a Kingdom of Aces so I hope that's alright! It's important in the plot that I have in mind. Right now, I'm unsure if I should continue the story, so I would really appreciate it if you could favourite if you like what I've wrote so far or review and give me comments as to how I can improve my writing. Thank you and enjoy~~~
> 
> P.S. There will be character death. Also, if you're wondering about the title, I read that a King card is often dubbed as the "Suicide King" because of the sword that appears to go through his head. :) The title will make sense later in the story.
> 
> And yes, Lovino is the King of Aces :D
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia and its characters, all rights belong to Hidekaz Himaruya.

King Lovino Vargas was preparing for yet another visit to his people. He was standing in the castle’s large courtyard, watching his guards get the horses ready while impatiently tapping his foot. The King usually travelled with an entourage of five bodyguards, but at that moment the last guard had yet to show up. Lovino was not a patient man, and he wanted to set off as soon as possible. 

“Is everything ready?” he asked Paul, the guard standing beside him. Unlike other Kings who normally had a lot more guards accompanying him to the Kingdom, Lovino preferred having a much smaller group. “Travelling light”; he called it. Though he enjoyed being King, there were times when he just wanted to feel normal and not have a huge group of guards breathing down his neck whenever he went out of the castle. Don’t get him wrong, Lovino liked feeling special. It was something that he never felt much during his early stages of life and he never felt good enough for anything, or anybody. Perhaps it was how his grandfather never praised him, or how he could never do anything as well as his brother could, or how everyone seemed to think less of him than his brother. When Lovino first discovered the capital “A” on his right shoulder, he had felt a mixture of feelings. Joy, fear and apprehension flooded his chest, but most of all he felt a rush of excitement – it was an opportunity for him to finally prove himself. To the world, to his brother, and ultimately, to his grandfather. It was a giant responsibility, but Lovino was going to fulfill it well even if it killed him. Heck, he was going to be the best King there ever was. So when the day of his coronation finally arrived, he had strode up to the chair of estate and sat down confidently with a swish of his new white and black robes, eagerly scanning the audience in the church for two familiar faces. Indeed, there was Feliciano, restless in his seat and upon catching his older brother’s eye, waved vigorously. The latter cracked a smile and gave a small wave back. Stupid Feli, he thought. That idiot’s more excited than I am. 

But it was Romulus who drew Lovino’s attention. His grandfather was sitting beside Feliciano but his eyes were merely staring through Lovino, who thought he had caught a hint of fear in them. Romulus’ expression was frozen, and Lovino saw Feliciano wave a hand in front of their grandfather’s face before he finally snapped back into focus. Lovino had dismissed his grandfather’s odd behavior as doubt that his grandson would be a good ruler. In fact, he could almost imagine his grandfather laughing at him, “Lovino? King? HAH the day you pull that off will be the day Helena comes running to me begging for marriage!” (Helena was this woman Romulus had spent – no; wasted, according to Lovino – his youth pining after only to get rejected countless times. Not that Lovino was surprised. He often wondered what his grandmother had seen in his frivolous guardian. Yet, the day Lovino had proudly announced to his family about his mark, Romulus had dragged him and Feliciano into the room they shared and face streaked with uncharacteristic worry, had told Lovino something so unbelievably stupid-sounding that if Lovino had not seen the dark look his grandfather had on his face, he would have simply stood up and left the room.

Romulus had started off with Lovino and Feliciano’s parents’ deaths. Immediately, Lovino had felt a sting in his heart as if his grandfather’s words had rubbed salt over the old wound he had had for his eighteen years of living. Since he was a child, he had grown up without parents and had watched in avid interest after school as his classmates all ran towards their mothers and fathers. His eyes would rest on their linked hands, his own palms feeling oddly cold and bare, and whenever Romulus came to fetch Feliciano and him he would always only hold Feliciano’s hand; never Lovino’s. Lovino had realized that his family was different, and there was this huge gap in his life that he had not been able to describe until he was much older, and that was that he lacked someone who could truly understand him, someone who truly loved him. Sure, he had Feliciano, but Lovino was always putting his brother first. He himself never quite knew why, he had forced himself to admit that he was jealous of Feliciano because Feliciano was better than him at everything and often gained praises, but his brother was even more airheaded than their grandfather and sometimes ended up being a bit of a pushover. Hence, Lovino occasionally had to step in to protect his brother from being taken advantage of. It might have also been due to the fact that Lovino never wanted his brother to have to experience the same loneliness he had lived with while growing up, so he did his best to ensure that his brother felt loved despite not having parents. If Lovino was honest, he had to admit that one of his main motivations behind his dedication to the Kingdom was to fill in any voids anyone had in their lives. He might be unable to interfere with his people’s personal lives, but he could ensure that all of their needs were met. No one should ever be left behind, he often told himself. Though he would rather throw himself off a cliff than admit that aloud. It just sounded so cheesy and superficial.

Anyway, Romulus had told his grandsons that their parents had been on their way to the Kingdom of Hearts when they disappeared. They had told him that they would be gone for a month, but after two months had still failed to return. A search had been carried out for Adriano and Enrica Vargas, but when even the Kingdom of Hearts reported that the search on their side had yielded no results, the couple was declared to be most likely dead. “Bad luck runs in our family. My brother got mauled by wild animals on one of his hunting trips, and my mother never returned from her research expedition,” Romulus continued gloomily, wrinkling Feliciano’s bed sheets with his grip on the fabric. He turned around to look at Lovino, who was perched on top of a stool behind him.

“Now, if this is another one of those “Lovino Vargas, you are bad luck to our family because you have no talent at all” talks, I’m not going to sit here to just fucking listen to you go on about how useless I am!” Lovino snapped, his words coming out harsher than he had expected them to be.  
“It’s not like that!” Romulus had yelled back, pounding his fist onto the mattress and startling Feliciano, who sat on the other end. 

“Grandpa calm down, I’m sure Lovi’s just a bit moody today…” 

“He’s moody everyday, Feliciano.”

Lovino stood up, ready to leave. “If that is all you have to say, I’m getting the fuck out of here.”

But then a hand had lunged out and grabbed his wrist, causing Lovino to yell in pain. Romulus was looking at him with surprisingly pleading eyes, and the voice that came out from his lips was entirely different from the loud, booming one Lovino had grown so accustomed to hearing. “Lovino, please listen to what I have to say. It’s important. Please.” 

Lovino decided to give his grandfather another chance, especially when it was not every day that he was this serious and he sat down again, but not before crossing his arms to show that his patience was running out. Romulus took that as a sign to resume his talking. “Have you heard about the Vargas legend?” Both Feliciano and Lovino shook their heads, Feliciano’s eyes widening in wonder and Lovino’s frown deepening. 

“I thought I wouldn’t have to ever tell you about it, but now that Lovino’s going to be the next King I think the circumstances leave us no other choice,” Romulus told them grimly. “You see, our family line is special. In every generation, one of us will be special.”

Lovino waited for his grandfather to burst into yet another line of praises for Feliciano, for “special” was synonymous with “Feliciano”, but Romulus pointed at him and said in the same solemn tone, “You are special, Lovino.” 

“Me?” Lovino pointed at himself, looking at Romulus incredulously. 

“Or rather, your heart is special. You see, it has the ability to heal any illness.”

For the next few seconds, Lovino stared at his grandfather dumbly, opening then closing his mouth. “Huh.”

“Wow! That’s really cool, Lovi! So you can heal anyone?” 

“I visited this witch when you were born. She… She’s been around for a long time and I asked if she could help. She told me that she would be able to tell if she tasted your blood, so I took a leap of faith and let her take some of your blood. And she tasted it and told me you were the one. It was no surprise to me, just acceptance, because my brother had it and so did my mother. And so did your father.” Romulus took a deep breath and moved both his hands to his lap.

Lovino was dumbfounded. He could not believe his ears, everything sounded like one big, stupid fairytale. When he spoke, his voice was cracked, “So… Our dad suffered the same fate as the rest of our family?” 

“I don’t know, Lovino. All I know is that those who’ve had the heart haven’t had a happy ending. I’m sorry.”

His grandfather’s words barely reached him. So he was going to end up like his parents? Dead because of his heart? Oh, the irony. Something that was keeping him alive would bring him death one day. Lovino almost laughed out loud. He never got the luck, did he? Feliciano got all the luck. Feliciano, who was now sniffling, his eyes moist and filled with what Lovino saw as pity as he looked at his brother. Lovino averted from Feliciano’s gaze, disgusted. Feliciano was not the one dying, /he/ was.

“Lovi, you can’t die!” Feliciano cried, while Romulus only looked away, unable to bring himself to meet his grandson’s eyes. 

“Well, is that all? That I’m going to die earlier than most people?” Lovino remarked sarcastically before standing up and brushing imaginary dust off his pants. “And just when I thought I was special!”

This isn’t a family legend. It’s a fucking tragedy. 

But before he left, Lovino stopped at the door and added, barely audibly, “But don’t worry, Feliciano. I won’t let myself die. I’ve got a Kingdom to rule.” 

 

 

“Your Majesty! I apologise, I was having trouble… Erm…” 

The curly-haired man who had been running towards the group stopped abruptly in his tracks when he finally noticed that everyone was staring at him. Well, not everyone. Lovino was sending him a death-glare so intense that the poor man sweatdropped and shifted from one foot to another. 

The auburn-haired King ahem-ed loudly and eager to make up for keeping the King waiting, the man hurriedly adjusted his black and white surcoat and bowed deeply to Lovino. “Your Majesty, I am Antonio, the new guard standing in for Henry. Well, until his leg recovers.”

Antonio stole a glance at his King, and saw that he was still under the mercy of Lovino’s silent but deadly evil eye. He realized that he had unknowingly stuck his hand out to the King, as if he was meeting someone for the first time. 

True, it was probably the first time Antonio had seen the King from such a close distance, and he had to admit that damn, his King was good-looking up close. Not that he would ever tell that to Lovino. He had to respect his sovereign after all, no matter how much of a crush he was starting to develop on his young King. 

Antonio suddenly felt embarrassed for behaving like such a teenage girl, and he mentally waved his inappropriate thoughts away, grinning apologetically at Lovino and withdrawing his hand before quickly mounting his horse. Out of the corner of his eye, he witnessed Lovino shaking his head before getting onto his own horse. He had heard from the other guards that when the Queen told Lovino to ride in the carriage “because whoever created the Kingdoms and chose the Royals would want the King to travel most comfortably”, Lovino had scoffed back, “Well, I’d tell whoever created the Kingdoms and chose the Royals to shut the hell up because I’m not going to sit in a carriage like Cinderella! I’m a man, dammit!” And apparently his cheeks had turned bright red, something many of his subjects often joked about behind his back but something Antonio had never seen with his own eyes. 

As they travelled through the castle’s gates and began the journey along the long path that led to the Kingdom, Antonio realized that he had ended up right behind Lovino and despite himself, found himself staring at the other man’s back. He noted the way Lovino held himself with poise, how his posture and the slight tilt of his chin exuded confidence and how he reached up and carelessly swept his hair back into place when the wind messed it up. In a way, Antonio was thankful that Henry had given him the chance to take his position while he was unable to do so, because it allowed Antonio to get to know Lovino better, and it was something he was really looking forward to. Then again, he had to tell himself repeatedly not to get too disappointed for all he knew, he was just another lowly subject in the King’s eyes. 

Antonio was lost in his thoughts until a voice interrupted him, “Hey! Are you listening?”

It was Lovino. He had his horse in a trot, and his upper body was turned around to face Antonio. “I asked you a question,” Lovino repeated, the irritation obvious in his tone. “How is Henry doing?” 

“He’s alright, Your Majesty. I’m unsure when he will get well, though. In fact, I’m not sure why he recommended me as his substitute, I don’t think I’m as good as him hahaha,” Antonio rambled, ending off with a sheepish laugh and scratching the back of his head.

“Yeah, I’m not sure why he would pick you,” Lovino commented nonchalantly before turning back around to face the front.

Ouch, Antonio thought. It had been less than an hour, but Antonio had already learnt that his King was not a man of kind words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Just a couple of random things: I'll be basing Lovino's castle off the Caerlaverock Castle (it's in Scotland) just for a reference, though the Cardverse I have in mind isn't exactly like the Medieval Ages. The reason why Lovino prefers travelling with fewer guards is because in my opinion, he's a guy that treasures freedom a lot (that's why he loves art!) and doesn't like being restricted. And in case you're wondering why Antonio was recommended to be one of the King's guards, it's because I think Himaruya mentioned that Spain has "two faces", and I thought I'd like to explore that! Hence, my headcanon is that though Antonio can be really absent-minded normally, in battle he can be absolutely deadly and swift, especially when he truly believes in what he's fighting for.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lovino has the first conversation with his grandfather after a period of two years, and learns something that might put his life in even greater danger. But the King of Aces is more dedicated to being King than his grandfather might have thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For old readers, in case you're confused about the change in order, I apologise for the mess-up of chapters. I have changed the order such that the story opens with Lovino first, and then goes around the other Kingdoms so as to give you readers a clearer idea as to how the other Kingdoms are run (haven't touched on the Kingdom of Hearts yet though) and also the backstories of the Royals. Hopefully, this will be clearer.

After finally setting foot onto the paved path of the main street, Lovino got down from his horse and decided to walk. He took the time to marvel in the sights and sounds, waving to his people who had, upon seeing their King, rushed eagerly to their balconies to catch a glimpse. Lovino was still a little not used to all the attention he got whenever he visited the Kingdom, though that particular day he had not left his castle on progress but rather, for a totally different purpose. Catching a bouquet of flowers tossed to him by a pretty young lady leaning over her balcony’s railings, Lovino sent her a charming wink in return, making her stumble back in awe, her hand covering the lower half of her face to hide her blush. The Kingdom was filled with lovely damsels that the King of Aces loved to charm. However, when the group slowed down to a halt and he turned to the carts his guards’ horses had been lugging, Lovino’s characteristic frown returned. He pulled back the cloth that had been draped over the boxes, revealing dozens of bottles, each filled with a viscous liquid. These were what had been sustaining the people of the Kingdom of Aces for months, their only source of hope against the disease. Something they had that the other Kingdoms did not.

“Map?” Lovino ordered, holding out his hand while checking the bottles to confirm that none of them had been smashed on the way. When no one responded, he looked up and directed at the nearest guard, “Who has the map?”

“Antonio does, Your Majesty.”

“Oh yeah, right…” The new guard fumbled in the small pouch he kept slung over his shoulder and pulled out a piece of paper, handing it to Lovino.

“Here you go, Your Majesty,” he finished with a beam.

Lovino barely managed to stop himself from groaning. Not only was there the stress from the possibility of there not being enough medicine for everyone, but his new guard was a bumbling idiot. Still, he shoved these thoughts to the recesses of his mind, bent on completing what he had set out for. He gathered the guards and together they briefly discussed the houses they had to visit before each setting off with their own cart of medicine, while Lovino and one of the guards would remain and give the bottles out to those living in their area.

And of all people, the one staying behind was Antonio, much to Lovino’s displeasure. After all, his first impression of the new guard was that he was an oblivious fool and he had not a single clue why Henry had asked such a person to take up a job that involved protecting the King. Lovino watched as Antonio checked the map another time before knocking on the door in front of them. The King eyed his companion warily, as he bounced on the balls of his feet and hummed in anticipation while waiting for the door to be answered. Antonio must have felt Lovino’s scrutiny, for he turned to flash him a brief smile before looking back at the wood. Lovino felt his cheeks heat up slightly at the other’s bold cheekiness, but decided to ignore him in favour of the little boy who had stuck his head out from behind the door.

The boy’s mop of licorice hair barely reached Lovino’s hip and he was watching the two curiously, his electric blue eyes startling them with their brightness. “Who are you?” he asked, gaze darting from Antonio to Lovino, then to the bottle Antonio was holding. “Are you here to help Grandma?”

“Yes, bring this to her. Get her to drink one spoonful three times a day, it will help her,” Antonio crouched down to the boy’s height and explained, sticking out three fingers and then one for emphasis. The boy nodded slowly, as if trying to absorb what Antonio had just told him.

“Three times… A day,” the boy repeated as he took the bottle from Antonio, swirling the thick syrup inside thoughtfully.

“That’s right! Hope your grandmother gets well soon,” Antonio chirped, ruffling the boy’s hair and earning himself a smile. He then turned to Lovino and gestured to the cart behind with his thumb, signaling to him to move on. But Lovino put his hand out to stop the door from closing and questioned the boy almost demandingly, “Wait! How is your grandmother doing?”

The boy’s smile fell and his eyes narrowed, like he suspected Lovino of having an intent to harm his family. “Who are you? You look mean.”

A sudden bout of laughter exploded from his left and Lovino spun in its direction, peeved and flustered. It was Antonio, who had both hands wrapped around his stomach as he bent over, his lean frame trembling uncontrollably. For a second, he paused his chortling and sneaked a peek at Lovino, but apparently the expression the other man wore – which was a mix between confused and embarrassed – only seemed to amuse him further and he resumed his laughing fit, only to finally stop after receiving a smack on the head from Lovino.

“What the hell? Get a hold of yourself, you idiot! We’re being serious here!” he hissed, and Antonio hastily straightened up and cleared his throat a few times before speaking to the boy casually.

“Oh, he’s the King.” And the boy’s eyes swept Lovino up and down, taking in his striped waistcoat, immaculate breeches and white coat. He took in Antonio’s surcoat as well, his lips forming a silent “O”.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, then added as an afterthought, “Your Majesty.”

The child opened the door fully, revealing his dark brown and too-large tunic. He extended one thin hand to the inside of the house, welcoming the pair in and leading them into what seemed to be the only bedroom in the tiny abode. An old woman lay on the bed, a worn-out blanket placed over her frail body. Her uncovered head was noticed by Lovino, and his heart sank at the sight of the swollen welts on her face, turned a grisly yellow from the pus. The woman’s breathing was shallow, and she curled up more tightly into her fetus position at the noise made by the visitors.

She didn’t deserve this. His people didn’t deserve this. Lovino felt as if the disease had gotten to his heart and was now squeezing it in its vice-like grip, the coldness from its icy fingers radiating through his veins, and in a way he guessed it already had. No matter what he did, it would still be there. He had increased the frequency at which medicine was dispatched to his people, but the disease just kept returning stronger and stronger, determined to crush his resolve.

And with every victim he saw, Lovino felt his resolve getting weaker. He wasn’t sure how much he could keep giving, and his hand automatically went to his left arm at that thought, feeling the bandage under his clothes.

Truth was, each bottle of medicine contained a bit of his blood. Though of course, he never made that piece of information public. The people would be dismayed that their King was doing such a thing to himself, but Lovino had had no choice. He had discovered the extent of his “special ability” accidentally one day when he had unintentionally knocked the plant on his desk over – damn, it had been a gift from Feliciano – and had cut his finger when trying to pick up the broken ceramic. He had cursed upon seeing the blood, but then something else had caught his eye. The plant had gotten a bit yellow and was close to the point of wilting, but Lovino had decided against getting rid of it (“because it has sentimental value, okay?”), and all of a sudden the leaves were green and fleshy once again. Intrigued, Lovino had observed the cut on his finger before hesitantly moving it over to the plant again, letting another drop of his blood fall to its stem. Indeed, the plant had seemed to straighten up on its own, no longer at the point of wilting. The King had had an epiphany right there and then: he could use his ability to help his people!

 _And I don’t have to die_ , he had also thought.

So Lovino told his Queen, and when Emma shot him a look of outrage and argued with him that there was no way he was going to put himself at risk, he had retorted that it was the only hope they had for their Kingdom.

“I’m sick of this shit, Emma. More and more people are falling ill and now I might be able to do something about it. I might be able to save them! I can’t be so selfish, Emma! Everyone out there is fucking suffering, and if a King’s duty is to just sit here in comfort then I’d rather not be a fucking King, _fuck you_!” Lovino had yelled, swiping the documents off his desk in his frustration. He had been instantly struck by a pang of regret when he saw Emma’s fury melt into plain hurt.

“If you’re really going to do it, I won’t stop you.” Emma’s tone had softened after she had been exposed to Lovino’s outburst. “But please take care of yourself, Lovino. I… I just care about you, that’s all.”

At her words, Lovino felt something else – it was raw and unfamiliar, but not entirely unpleasant, and it seemed to quell his anger and made him feel less incomplete. He realized it was the feeling of having someone concerned for him, and he suddenly wished he could take back everything he had screamed at Emma. “ _I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you,”_ he wanted to say, but the strangeness of that feeling seemed to paralyse him, making him temporarily mute and all that came out of his mouth was a soft “yeah”.

From that day onwards, Lovino made it mandatory for all medicine to be sent to the castle before being dispatched, for “safety purposes”. But he would draw his own blood out with syringes, dropping three to four drops in each bottle with the help of a few trusted servants. Whenever any of his subjects dared to speak up about their worries, he would snap at them. As such, no one was allowed to challenge Lovino’s decision. It didn’t make him feel any better being rude to his servants, but it kept the questions away so he never bothered to hold his sharp tongue. After all, he had grown up that way, building walls as high as the castle’s own stone exterior around himself out of unpleasant words and unkind expressions just to keep everyone at a distance. He never quite knew why he did that, perhaps it had been a form of defence so no one could hurt him. But his people had chiseled cracks into his barriers, and whenever Lovino closed his eyes, he would see their faces – of children, women and men of all ages, a multitude of visages peering through the metaphorical cracks at their King, and it was at those moments when Lovino would be reminded of how much was at stake if the Kingdom succumbed to the disease completely. And Emma; the spunky Queen in the tea-length dress had wielded a sledgehammer and knocked a hole in the stone and in her own, platonic way, had found a place in Lovino’s heart like how Lovino had been welcomed into hers the first day they had met.

At the beginning, the medicine had worked like a charm. People were writing in to the castle, reporting that their relatives had mysteriously gotten well after taking the medicine given out. Those who couldn’t afford the medicine were offered the treatment for free, while those who could had to pay a fee. Nevertheless, the Royals tried to subsidise as much as they could, even going as far as selling their belongings to other Kingdoms to ensure that the economy would not plummet too significantly. They were lucky to have obtained a cure unlike the other Kingdoms, but this also brought suspicious people from the other lands to the Kingdom of Aces and more than once, travellers from elsewhere were caught trying to steal the medicine left on the doorsteps. Hence, Lovino made sure that guards patrolled the area often and that the medicine was given out personally to the people of his Kingdom. This was because as the resistance against the drug grew, he had to increase the drops of blood in each bottle and it was starting to take a toll on his health. The King lost weight and grew thinner, until his coat sagged off his shoulders and his cheekbones became very prominent. Once, he even collapsed and had to be suscepted to Emma’s nagging and force-feeding of chicken soup when he woke up.

Lovino wasn’t sure how long he could keep on giving his blood out like that. He glanced at the bottle the boy had placed on his grandmother’s bedside table, the thought of the drops of his blood being mixed around with the syrup enough to make his stomach give a lurch. Deciding that he had had enough, Lovino swiftly took off his coat and placed it over the meager blanket with surprising gentleness. The old woman seemed to find comfort from the extra warmth and stopped squirming, finally settling down and sleeping soundly.

“Remember to take one spoonful every day too, okay?” Lovino turned towards the boy at the door. “Just in case.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Are you cold, Your Majesty?” At Antonio’s question, Lovino stopped in his tracks and became aware that he had been rubbing his arms to protect himself against the chilly wind.

“Your Majesty, you can have my surcoat. It’s not much but… It will help at least a little,” Antonio reasoned, unbuckling his belt and pulling off the coat, holding it out to Lovino. The shorter man responded with a hard stare before he reached out and took the surcoat from Antonio, muttering a grateful “thank you”.

They had finished the last of the bottles and figured out that they had a little time before they were supposed to rendezvous with the other guards, and Lovino had made the unexpected choice to drop by at his grandfather’s house. He had not seen him since the day Feliciano had set off to the Kingdom of Hearts as the new Jack (Sometimes members of the same family could belong to different Kingdoms because some of their ancestors married across Kingdoms), which was a total of two years, and felt that perhaps it would only be right if he dropped by for a short visit. From what he had heard, his grandfather’s house was not marked as one of the houses that needed the medicine because one of its inhabitants had caught the disease, but Lovino had specially ordered for one bottle to be sent every two or three dispatchments as a safety measure.

 _But there’s no fucking way I’m telling him I specially requested,_ he thought as he rapped sharply on the door twice, stealing a brief glimpse of Antonio who was whistling while caressing the mane of his horse and rolling his eyes as his own horse whinnied for attention. Lovino confessed that Antonio’s earlier gesture had pleasantly surprised him, and he had been a little touched that someone had been thoughtful enough to be able to see through his body language and offer him their coat. The surcoat was still hot from Antonio’s body heat and Lovino felt strangely snug and comfortable. Not that it changed the fact that Antonio was still a too-happy idiot. His face had literally lit up when Lovino thanked him.

“Why are you sending me medicine when I’m not ill?” was the first thing his grandfather said when the door was open.

 _Oh crap._ “I… Urm… Weeeelll, it’s just for precaution because I don’t want to have to attend your shitty funeral, alright?”

Romulus paused, hand going to his chin pensively. “Okay… Come in then, I have something to tell you.”

“What? Figured out my death date?” Lovino answered stiffly but he stepped into the house anyway. The interior was the same as it had been two years ago, the two-seater couch that Romulus loved taking naps on was still there but now tattered, and the aeroplane model Lovino and Feliciano (or rather Lovino because Feliciano had spent all the time playing with the glue) had assembled in their childhood still hung at the window. Lovino saw that the room he and Feliciano used to share had been converted into a workshop, with saws and hammers of different sizes hanging from the walls and long tables covered in dust and wood shavings. Where their beds used to be laid a suspicious-looking pile of wood.

Lovino pointed at the plank at the top of the pile, where the carving a five-year-old Feliciano had made of two stick-figures, one with his arms firmly crossed and his eyebrows in an exaggerated frown, the other with a triangular mouth too big for his face. At that time, Feliciano’s inner artist had yet to awaken, and his itchy hands loved marking things. Two curls had been drawn onto the figures’ heads, and Lovino’s hand resisted the temptation to reach up and make an attempt out of thousand past attempts to flatten the stray curl that always stuck out from his hair, refusing to be tamed by any comb or Lovino’s fretful hands. “Did those use to be our beds?”

“Yes. After you and Feliciano moved out, I got a job as a carpenter. Am working with Alaric,” his grandfather explained before falling back onto the couch, causing another spring to pop out from the other seat. “Anyway, I have something to tell you. And no, it’s not your death date.”

He patted the seat beside him, but after seeing the loose spring, Lovino decided he did not want to risk having his rear end brutally pierced with coiled metal and chose to lean against the wall instead.

“You see, I received a letter yesterday. It wasn’t signed, but I have a feeling it’s from the old woman who told me about your… Ability.” Romulus rested one muscly arm on the back of the seat, peering upwards at Lovino, whose silence urged him to continue. “One of the old Jack of Diamonds was a Vargas, apparently. A very, very long time ago. He had the heart. The Ruby, the old woman named it. And he had been unlucky–“

At this point, Lovino snorted. “Ah. Another example of a possible fate I might have. Fan-fucking-tastic.” He knew he was stepping into dangerous waters at the flare of agitation in his grandfather’s weathered pupils, but he had swum in these currents too many times to let it bother him.

Romulus seemed to be contemplating between giving up on his grandson and resuming. He picked the more sensible choice and massaging his temples, went on, “At that time, there was a fatal disease spreading across the Kingdoms. Like now.”

The mention of the disease made Lovino jolt back from the wall. “And?” he demanded, heart beginning to hammer in his chest. What about the disease? Was there a cure? Something else he could do? What did the Vargas do? Did he run away?

“The legend of the Ruby was widespread and known then, and as the Kings got desperate they began searching for the carrier of the Ruby. The King of Diamonds discovered that his Jack had it, and wanted to kill him. You see, his Jack was already over forty years of age, and even if he died the next Jack would probably be chosen quickly. But of course, the Jack didn’t want to die and escaped, sparking a war between the five Kingdoms as the Royals ruthlessly eliminated any competition that stood between their Kingdom and the Ruby. Because the Ruby can only be used for one Kingdom. It’s not enough for everyone,” his grandfather finished, his voice in that unusual sepulchral tone again. “Do you understand what I’m trying to say, Lovino?”

But Lovino could only look vacantly at Romulus, even Antonio’s surcoat insufficient against the chills his grandfather’s words had given him. “What… What happened to the Jack?”

“He was never found. The Kingdoms nearly wiped each other out, and in the end the Royals took up a gruesome solution: they put anyone who was sick to death and burnt the bodies to curb the spread and bit by bit, the disease went away.”

Romulus waited, as Lovino’s eyes flickered from where they had been intently searing a hole into the ground to Romulus’ own amber ones. Lovino faintly recalled that though most people often said that Feliciano resembled Romulus the most, with their similar auburn hair colour and ever-present smile, Lovino had inherited the intense amber hue his grandfather’s eyes carried.

“What I’m saying is,” Romulus exhaled, his leg jiggling up and down, a bad habit Lovino had come to know as a sign that his grandfather was uncomfortable. “I have a plan to help you escape–“

“No.” The firmness of his own voice shocked Lovino. “I can’t leave.”

“Don’t you understand?” His grandfather had shifted positions again and was now leaning forward, his elbows on his knees and his tensed fingers knitted together. “When everyone is desperate enough, they’re going to come after you. The whole _world’s_ going to be after you, _Lovino_ ,” he stressed, gold eyes flashing warningly.

Lovino had already lost sight of the shore and was now preparing to dive into the dangerous waters he had been merely treading in earlier on. A deep breath. In. Out. “I don’t care. I don’t give a _damn_ about my safety, Grandpa.”

Lovino wanted to accuse his grandfather of pretending to care about him, because since when was he ever so concerned about this particular grandson of his? He wanted to take everything out on the older man in front of him, wanted to let him know how much it hurt never being anyone’s first choice. It was childish, it was stupid, but it was the truth. The truth was clawing at Lovino’s insides, begging to be let out, like a beast struggling against the restraints that had fought to hold it down for years. But then suddenly the truth didn’t matter that much anymore. Somewhere along Lovino’s time as King, it had occurred to him that he was now a part of something big, something so much more than he could ever be, something that involved generations and generations of people and it would not do to keep on dwelling on his own past after having the future of hundreds placed into his hands. When he first ascended the throne, he had been filled with determination to prove himself to anyone who ever thought little of him, and though it sufficed as motivation to push him to rule the Kingdom at his best, somewhere along it stopped being about him and he realized how much his people had began to matter.

That was it. He couldn’t abandon his people. They were _his_ people after all.

“I won’t be like the Jack. I won’t be a fucking _coward_ , Grandpa. I won’t leave my people!” The cheesiness of his words would have made Lovino turn beet-red if not for the situation, but he refused to back down and looked Romulus in the eyes challengingly.

His grandfather stood up slowly, all signs of his usual laid-back self vanishing as he approached his grandson. “You. Are. Going. To. Leave. With. Me. **Tomorrow** ,” he accentuated each word forcefully, the area between his eyebrows scrunched up in his anger.

“Make. Me.” Lovino copied Romulus’ tone and fired back, feeling his toes curl in his leather shoes as tension brew between grandfather and grandson.

Romulus opened his mouth to say something but at that moment, Lovino heard Antonio knock on the door and call out, “Your Majesty! We need to be on our way now.”

The tension that had hung palpably in the air dissipated and both men’s shoulders relaxed at the interruption. When Lovino looked back at Romulus, the older man looked exhausted, his age showing more clearly than ever on his face. Yet the amber in his eyes shone with something that Lovino identified as pride, for he had seen it being reflected at Feliciano countless times.

“I… I guess I have to go now,” Lovino quickly broke the awkward silence, unable to take the look his grandfather had in his eyes.

“I’m proud of you, Lovino. You’ve grown; your parents would have been proud of you too,” Romulus’ tone was sincere and no matter how hard Lovino searched for it, held not even a hint of mockery. But it was something different, and Lovino couldn’t quite handle _different_ , so he just grunted and went out, slamming the door behind him. He did not notice the painting he had done when he was fifteen and had kept hidden under his bed displayed on the back of the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have arrived at the end of Chapter 2! If you're wondering about the random painting at the end, here's a bit of an explanation: After Feliciano and Lovino left the house for their respective castles, Romulus got a job as a carpenter and dismantled their beds for wood since it was unlikely that they would return. He discovered the painting Lovino had kept hidden under his bed and decided to hang it up, showing that he does care for Lovino after all and actually thinks that he has talent. :) So yep! My failed attempt at symbolism lol. 
> 
> Do leave a comment and let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet the King of Clubs - Ivan - and learn about his backstory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I'm back with the third chapter so do enjoy and let me know in the comments how it is. :) This chapter will feature Ivan's backstory, so hopefully I portrayed his emotions fine and that the sequence of events was logical.
> 
> For old readers, in case you're confused about the change in order, I apologise for the mess-up of chapters. I have changed the order such that the story opens with Lovino first, and then goes around the other Kingdoms so as to give you readers a clearer idea as to how the other Kingdoms are run (haven't touched on the Kingdom of Hearts yet though) and also the backstories of the Royals. Hopefully, this will be clearer.

King Ivan Braginski never wanted to be King. As much as people said that those who ended up in the position had royalty in their blood and no one else would make a better choice for the throne, Ivan disagreed. Life in the castle appealed to many, with its glistening halls and expansive rooms, but when Ivan was helped into his green robes and the heavy velvet was draped across his shoulders, it was as if the weight of the garment was a symbol of the burden he was about to undertake – the burden of leading the Kingdom. One of the maids handed him his staff, a long, golden scepter that had a glittering jewel at its tip and Ivan took it from her, offering a tiny smile. He was nineteen when he discovered the mark in the shape of a club on his right shoulder. He had been bathing, moving the cloth over his arm when he realized something strange. It had been small at first, not bigger than a pea, but the sight of it had pierced Ivan with an iciness that crept from his heart to his toes, and suddenly the water had turned cold. Ivan had been sure. It could never be a mistake. The mark had been as clear as day, a blemish on his pale skin. He had known that from that morning onwards, it would start to grow, for its appearance meant that the current King's time was about to be up and that it was only a matter of days before he had to step up.

Of course, Ivan had tried desperately to hide it. But when his own father came crashing through the door to his and his two sisters' hideout, he knew that it was over. Ivan hated his father. He was an alcoholic, and would often come home intoxicated and with a bottle of vodka in his hand. Ivan hated the vodka. His father would sway unsteadily into the house, the bottle hanging loosely from his hand, and when he saw his children his eyes would focus, if only just for a moment, and his eyebrows would scrunch up tightly.

"You…" he would point at Natalya, then Katyusha, and always, always, his finger would eventually land on Ivan. Little Ivan was barely ten then, and all he knew was that when he was younger his mother had brought him and Natalya out to the sunflower fields to play. He could still remember his mother: Mariya Braginskaya was a beautiful woman with kind eyes and strong arms that would often hoist a laughing Ivan into the air and onto her shoulders, and from the view on top of his mother's shoulders, Ivan would watch as the breeze blew the sunflowers from side to side. Mariya had platinum blonde hair, like Katyusha, and a smooth, oval-shaped face like Natalya's. Ivan had inherited his rather large nose from Mariya, and whenever he was made fun of it, Mariya would playfully poke him on the nose and chuckle, "Well, think of it as a gift from your mother that will follow you everywhere!"  
At that time, even Natalya still smiled. She was a smart girl, Mariya always said, and would definitely grow up to make a name for herself. Katyusha was big-hearted, she would add, and would make many friends and probably gain many admirers as well. And Ivan, she would turn to him, the laughter emitting from her lips light and not unlike bells upon seeing his eyes widen in anticipation. "You're special." Mariya would poke his nose again. "You will grow up to be a fine young man one day."

And Ivan believed it. His dream was to open a flower shop when he grew up; everyone would laugh at him whenever he mentioned his ambition but the truth was, Ivan loved flowers and he wanted to be able to share them with the world. Flowers brought joy, and he would be the joy-bringer of the Kingdom of Clubs and beyond. His plan was to start small and sell flowers but whenever he had an excess, he planned to leave them on the doorsteps of the less fortunate. Ivan particularly loved sunflowers. He loved them for their vibrant yellow hues, the way they brought the landscape to life, and the way they always followed the Sun. When he grew up, Ivan decided, he wanted his flower shop to be in the middle of a field of sunflowers. But that was before The Accident.

The Accident, as it came to be known as to their family, occurred when Ivan was eight. Mariya had taken Natalya and Ivan out to the sunflower fields, and the trio was playing a game of hide-and-seek that involved Mariya seeking her children. Ivan was running through the sunflowers while glancing around at his mother, who had her hands over her eyes and a grin on her face while she counted loudly. When he was finally satisfied with the distance he had put between himself and Mariya, he sniggered and took a few steps back – and the next thing he knew, he was falling through empty air.

Ivan screamed. He was so in shocked that his mind went blank except for five words: cliff, falling, help, die, Mom. The rocky surface of the cliff that he had missed rushed past him as gravity pulled him downwards, and all of a sudden he heard a loud thump and his back found solid ground. All was silent for a moment as Ivan laid on the ledge, his body paralyzed and his eyes frozen towards the sky. He took a moment to register that the noisy, wheezing sound and the deafening booming that persisted were his breathing and the beating of his heart. Everything suddenly seemed peaceful and the sky was still as blue. The boy exhaled and slowly sat up, surveying his surroundings. He realized that he had gotten lucky and had landed on a rather narrow ledge, just wide enough for him to lie on. A peer over the ledge brought a nauseating view of a rushing river and a couple of jagged rocks below. Ivan was sure, however, that if he had shifted a little to the side he would be careering downwards against the wind and get smashed against the rocks. He shuddered at the thought of his body lying broken beside the water.

"Ivan! Look up!" Ivan's head shot up at the sound of his mother's voice. He could see her head, peering over the edge of the cliff. The eight year old suddenly felt an immense sense of relief at the sight of his mother, and he silently thanked whoever had helped him and made a promise to do all of his overdue schoolwork when he returned home.

"I'm here! I'm fine!" Ivan shouted back. Another quick survey led Ivan to discover that he had only fallen a relatively short distance, and that drew another promise to help his parents clean the house later.

Mariya's face immediately regained some of its color and a bit of her usual smile returned. "Alright, can you reach my hand?" she said, lying on her belly and shuffling forward, dangling one arm below. Ivan stood up and stretched his arm out, but there seemed to be at least a metre's distance between their fingertips.

"I-I can't!" Ivan cried out in reply, panic rising in his chest. What if his mother could not pull him up? What if he was stuck there forever?

Mariya sucked in her breath. When she spoke again, her voice had grown shakier. "Okay Ivan, I'm coming down to get you."

Ivan watched as his mother's head disappeared from the edge again, probably to tell Natalya something, Then, he saw her leg, first stepping onto the rocks to test their stability before she brought the other leg down to find another firm hold in the cliff. Mariya's face was scrunched up in determination as she slowly made her way towards Ivan's ledge, occasionally glancing at her feet to find the next foothold. It struck Ivan how brave and heroic she was, coming down to his rescue. He knew that when his parents were younger, they were adventurous and known to be daredevils, scaling mountains and hiking in difficult terrain, so for some reason he knew that everything was going to be alright as long as his mother was around. Of course, at that time he was too young to notice the way Mariya's hands shook and the cold sweat that beaded on her forehead. It would be years later before he realized that his mother had been afraid.

"Alright, now I need you to be brave, okay? I'm not strong enough to hold you and climb back up, so you need to climb the rocks and it's going to be hard but I will be with you for every step." At his mother's words, Ivan's heart nearly stopped beating. Climb the cliff? It was impossible! His palms were already getting sweaty at the thought of scaling the wall.

"I can't… I'm scared!" he whispered fearfully. "What if I fall?"

"You won't," Mariya said firmly. "I promise I won't let you fall."

And the love in his mother's eyes made Ivan nod earnestly and put his hand onto the cliff, grabbing a rock that jutted out. He could never remember a time when his mother had broken a promise, so he trusted her more than anything.

"Put your other hand onto the wall. Come on, you can do this! Make sure that you have a firm grip. Don't worry; I will catch you if you drop. Now, move one of your legs onto the area here. Yes, there… The surface is slightly concave, it will provide a good foothold…"

And step by step, Mariya guided Ivan until he finally gripped the edge and hauled himself over. "I did it, Mom! Now it's your turn! You'll be fine right?"

"Yes, Ivan," Mariya said as she moved her right hand upwards, feeling across the wall for a suitable handhold. "I have had many years of experience so I'll be fine, I promise."

There it was again. "I promise." Ivan smiled. He knew his mother was going to be fine.

"Are you alright?" Natalya asked, reaching out to touch a scrape Ivan had on his knee. She looked up at her big brother with her wide eyes and expressed her concern by childishly swiping off the dirt on his clothes. Ivan nodded, peering over the edge to see his mother, who gave him a reassuring smile in return.

"Yes, Natalya. I'm alright-"

But for the second time of the day a bloodcurdling scream pierced the air, and when Ivan and Natalya looked below, they saw a scene that would haunt their dreams from that day onwards. Just like that, it was over.

Years of experience had failed their mother. Their mother, the woman with the bright smile and twinkling eyes, the woman who loved lying in sunflower fields with her children, the woman with a heart that not only burned with a fiery thirst for adventure but also for her family, was lying broken beside the river. Just like Ivan had imagined himself before. Her eyes, those eyes with the slightly darker blue dots around their irises and that would shine with her adoration for Ivan and his sisters, were now wide open and empty in a never-ending stare towards the sky.

The sky. The sky was still the same expanse of blue, under which a woman laid beside the river, her spine broken and her flesh split from the sharpness of the rocks. As if someone wanted to add the final blow, a particularly pointed rock had penetrated her neck, from which crimson blood flowed freely, contaminating the pristine water and causing it to run red and thick. Her mouth was open in a scream that went on into forever, her voice permanently silenced by Death's scythe.

Mariya's body was like the promise she had made. Broken.

Ivan and Natalya lost track of what happened next. Maybe Ivan had cried and cried and Natalya had kept clawing at the grass until her fingers bled, but when their father came looking for them, he found them sitting at the edge in a painful silence. When he asked them what had happened, they merely pointed at the edge and sobbed again, Ivan rubbing at his already swollen eyes and Natalya clutching her dress tightly. Their father's howl was unearthly, but while Ivan expected him to comfort his children, he merely turned around and gave them a glare so fierce that it made his blood run cold, and the next thing he knew he had been given a hard slap on the face. That was the beginning of everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Will try to update soon. :D


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We return to Ivan's past: Natalya joins the Knights of Clubs, and Ivan and Katyusha run away, only to be discovered by their father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Firstly, I'm deeply sorry for dragging on Ivan's backstory for so long. I've deviated away from the actual plot, and Ivan's not actually the main character of the whole story so yeah, I'm sorry for my lack of careful planning. :( Secondly, I apologise if Katyusha seems a bit OOC, I wanted to portray her as a changed person since The Accident and how she became more hard-hearted and all that but I don't think I pulled it off.
> 
> Lastly, thank you for reading, and thank you to the guest who left a Kudos! It really made my day. :') 
> 
> For old readers, in case you're confused about the change in order, I apologise for the mess-up of chapters. I have changed the order so the flow will be clearer. Do refer to Chap 1 for more of an explanation!

The days that were spent in the sunflower fields soon faded, and made way for nights filled with the smashing of glass and the slamming of doors. Even the neighbours knew better and minded their own business. Once, the woman staying next door came over and told their father to stop, but ended up with her face cut by a bottle thrown at her. Their father returned home drunk daily, and soon became unemployed. He blamed his children for Mariya’s death, especially Ivan, because he knew somehow, that Mariya was always a tad bit more loving towards the boy. He would corner Ivan, the vodka bottle in his hand as he wavered on and off balance. 

“You!” he would spit, and Ivan would flinch from his father’s putrid breath, yet not daring to wipe the saliva from his face. He would merely back further towards the wall, his hands scrabbling for support on the wood but finding none and his breath coming out quick and unsteady. He grew to fear his father, and suddenly all memories of him ever being a fatherly figure, those memories in which his father read them bedtime stories of dragons and knights and how he often let them sit on his lap as they observed the sunset together outside the house disappeared, and the image of his father’s affectionate smile transformed into one of his menacing scowls. The first few nights Ivan cried, but when he realized that the more he cried, the harder his father hit, he learnt to be silent and he would bite his lip whenever the belt came down onto his back. Initially it would hurt when his lip split and the coppery taste of blood occupied his mouth, but as the days went by Ivan grew accustomed to the pain, and every slash his father made across his body became only “one more”. 

Katyusha and Natalya were helpless towards their brother’s plight, for their father often locked them in their bedroom whenever he decided he wanted to punish Ivan. It wasn’t every night that their father let loose his wrath, and later on he simply returned home and collapsed onto the floor for most nights, but all of his children were afraid of him and dared not approach him at all. It was only when Ivan was sixteen and had just undergone another beating that Katyusha paused in the midst of bandaging his wounds like she had been doing for years and suddenly called his name sharply.

Ivan had remained staring at the floor and had only looked up when he felt Katyusha’s hand on his shoulder. Katyusha had on one of those serious expressions again, those that she wore a lot more often ever since The Accident. She was chewing on her lower lip in thought and she swept her short hair behind her ear impatiently. “Ivan, this can’t go on anymore. Leave with me now.”

Recently, when their father had been out on another of his drinking escapades, Katyusha had told him about her plan. She had found a farm in the rural area of the Kingdom, far away from their current house but not too far away from town, and had managed to negotiate a deal with the farmer. He did not mind cutting down on the rent if they worked for him, and Katyusha explained that she had counted her and Natalya’s savings and it was enough for the first month at least. 

“Let’s run away, Ivan. You don’t deserve to be treated this way,” she had begged, taking both of Ivan’s bigger hands in hers. Now that Ivan had started going through puberty, his body had grown much taller and he soon towered over all the other boys his age. Yet he had shook his head at his sister, responding that then there would be no one to take care of their father. 

“What if he ends up like Mom?” he had replied quietly, avoiding looking at Katyusha directly. He had already known the look she was giving him, the upwards arching of her eyebrows and the flash of betrayal and disbelief in her eyes. It had his heart ache, and he had quickly added a soft apology. “I’m sorry.”

When he had finally looked up at Katyusha, he had noticed that her lips had been quivering and that her denim blue eyes had rapidly misted with tears. Since they were children, Katyusha had always been the one who tended to cry easily, despite being the oldest. In an attempt at comforting her, Ivan had raised his hand and thumbed the damp skin above his sister’s cheekbones, sending her what he hoped was an assuring smile. “I’ll be fine-“ he had answered, but the next two words had caught in his throat and he had found himself choking on empty air. “I promise.”  
“Ivan, please.” Katyusha’s persistent pleading shook Ivan out of his reverie. “Mother would have wanted you to be happy.” 

And Ivan nodded, and before he could even come to terms with anything, he and Katyusha had snuck out and were running through the deserted streets. He could feel the cobblestone smack painfully against his feet, its roughness scraping his skin through the sorry excuse he had for shoes. The streetlights had been extinguished, and the only things he was aware of were the adrenaline running through his veins and Katyusha’s determined look as she led the way. “The sooner we’re out of here, the better,” she huffed, sweat glistening on her round face and the yellow headband she used to pull back her hair slanted.

“What about Natalya?” Ivan asked. 

Natalya had told them about wanting to join the Knights of Clubs upon turning fifteen. “I want to get stronger,” she had stated simply, as if it was an obvious thing. She had turned to Ivan and something that he had failed to identify had sparked in her ultramarine eyes. “I want to be able to protect you.” 

Natalya had left during winter, when the Royals were carrying out the recruitment for new Knights. Since then, she seldom returned to the house and when she did she spoke little, often staring at Ivan or Katyusha flatly, though sometimes Ivan thought that if he observed her closely he was able to see a myriad of emotions shifting behind her seemingly emotionless eyes. 

“She knows where the farm is,” Katyusha replied breathlessly. “We’re almost there, follow the stream!”

Ivan allowed himself an opportunity to look around. He realized that he had gone past the cake shop that his mother used to bring them to get pastries and when he looked back he saw the dark green sign shifting forwards and backwards in the wind, as if hurrying them. They had gone through a narrow alley and had emerged behind an old bookstore, where a stream awaited them. Ivan nodded despite knowing that Katyusha was not looking around, and under the guidance of the moon’s light, they headed in the direction of their safe house.  
All was well, and for three years, Ivan lived peacefully with Katyusha on the farm. The farmer was a strange and eccentric man with a large beard and beady eyes. He mostly kept to himself, only making conversation whenever the siblings asked him about farming. Yet, Ivan felt a lot better living with him than when he had lived with his father. 

But again, this peace was lost when Ivan discovered the mark on his right shoulder. He climbed out of the tub and got dressed quickly, not caring about the water that splashed out onto the floor. Exiting the bathroom cautiously, Ivan confirmed that their landlord was not anywhere nearby in the vicinity before going into Katyusha’s room and closing the door behind him. He then whispered to her his plight, pulling down the collar of his shirt to show her the offending mark. Ivan himself looked away, for each glance brought swift visions of what awaited in the palace: he would have to sit on the throne and command troops, and he would have a Queen – someone he might not have even met, someone he probably could never grow to love. He would have to leave Katyusha and the farm for a large castle filled with grand corridors that would only seem to make the emptiness inside him greater. The times spent gazing at the castle from afar had been coupled with a child’s imagination, but now the cold, stone building was nothing more than a prison that awaited his arrival. Ivan thought of Natalya and her job within the giant walls, and suddenly wondered if her lack of mention about how the castle was like had anything to do with how bad it was to be in there. It did strike him that he might get the chance to see Natalya more often – and heck, he did miss her – but the dread at having to rule over the Kingdom won over every other emotion and the next thing he knew he was gripping onto Katyusha and muttering over and over again that he never wanted to go. 

“I can’t do it,” he croaked, his voice with an edge that indicated the imminent arrival of tears. He knew that he should not be crying, but even Katyusha had always said that he had maintained a childish innocence despite everything that he had gone through. He heard a small gasp as his sister saw the mark with its bold curves in its twisted glory. 

“It’s alright, Ivan. It’s not that big yet. We’ll keep it a secret.”

But both of them knew that it was only a matter of time before their secret came out. 

And true enough, the night their father came through the doorway of the farmhouse hollering for Ivan and Katyusha to come out was the night the remaining pieces of everything fell apart. 

The farmer had told him, he growled. It had been a coincidence, they were both drinking at the same pub and the farmer had let slip about his new tenants. “Two of ‘em, I say. Two girls… Hic! No…” the farmer slurred, his pudgy hands falling onto his potbelly. He frowned, tilting backwards slightly on his stool, both cheeks flushed deeply. 

“That ain’t right… One boy… One girl!” Happy that he had gotten his facts correct, the man clapped both hands and guffawed loudly before he was stopped by Ivan’s father. 

“What did you say?” he demanded, one hand on the larger man’s shoulder. He had only gone through one cup of vodka and was scarcely drunk. “Do they have platinum blond hair?”

The farmer nodded, slumping towards the counter. “Yessir… Could bring you to them if you’d like,” he added, then suddenly sober, slammed his free hand onto the counter and told the man who had interrupted his drinking. “But only if you pay me.”  
After the farmer had foolishly led their father to the farmhouse and gone off to enjoy the bottle of beer he had earned, Ivan found himself in a repetition of history as his father grabbed his collar roughly. He was pulled so close to his father’s face that he could nearly count the wrinkles that had been carved near the elder man’s lips and the startlingly violet eyes that Ivan also had glowered at him.  
“It was your idea, wasn’t it? To abandon me?” His father’s voice was deadly level, and Ivan knew that he was going to get hit again. After his wounds had finally turned to scars, the man was finally back to haunt him. 

However, his father’s attention became caught by something. Ivan watched as the other’s eyes flickered over to his right shoulder, and instinctively he pushed his father away and tugged his shirt over. 

“What’s that? LET ME SEE!” And before Ivan could finish reveling in the fact that he had just managed to shove his father off him, his father had reached for his shirt again and wrenched the fabric downwards to reveal the mark. It had grown much bigger since Ivan first found it, and top curve of the club was now dangerously close to his collarbone. 

Ivan felt his heart stop as his father pushed him away and pointed an accusing finger at him. “You’re… You’re the future King, aren’t you?  
In a desperate attempt, Ivan shook his head but his father only advanced closer. “You’re going to have me killed, aren’t you? To get your revenge?” Again, his voice had lowered to an unnerving calm, and Ivan’s head was screaming with terror and a voice that kept urging him to hit back at his father. 

“That’s right! Hit him! Look at what he has done to you!” 

Stop pushing me. I can’t take this anymore.

“I can’t let you go, Ivan,” his father snarled, grabbing the knife Katyusha had left on the table when she had been cutting fruits. “I won’t let you be King.”

And for some reason or another, Ivan’s own internal voice stopped yelling at the world to stop and he snatched at his father’s arm, placing the tip of the knife to his throat. 

“Well, kill me then. It’s not like I want to take the throne anyway.” Ivan’s voice shook with emotion, but probably for the first time since The Accident, he found the courage to look his father in the eyes. 

Once again, nearly identical violet eyes met, one slightly faded with age and now wider in surprise, the other filled with fiery anger. Ivan pressed the knife further in and drew a few drops of blood. The pain was quick to come, sharp and piercing, but Ivan pushed it aside – in fact, he pushed away everything that had been in his mind, the mark, the scars and his mother – and stood his ground. His head had gone awfully silent, leaving behind a foreign tranquility.

“Can’t do it? Why? Are you a coward?” Ivan taunted his father, the same man who would find joy in flinging glass bottles at the wall right beside Ivan’s ear. 

His father’s face twisted at his son’s words and he stepped forward, but then something slammed into his back and he yowled, dropping the knife to the floor. Ivan saw Katyusha standing in front of him, a rake in her hand and her mouth set into a thin line, eyes blazing with fury. “Get away from him!” she ordered, and swung the rake at her father. 

“Bitch!” their father swore and leapt at her, knocking down a candle in the process. All three of them watched in morbid fascination as the curtains caught fire, and then everything happened at once. Katyusha let go of the rake and barked at Ivan to run, and they were soon darting past a falling beam as the fire spread across the wooden walls. The door was open, thank goodness, and the duo escaped the now burning farmhouse. Ivan’s earlier moment of bravery had left him, and when he turned to look back at the house, his home for the past few years now being devoured in the intense inferno, it hit him that their father was still in there and he immediately made to run towards the house.  
But it was Katyusha who stopped him. Katyusha, the girl whom their mother called kind and soft-hearted, held Ivan’s arm and shook her head at him, her eyes unnaturally dark. “Forget it, Ivan. It’s for the best.”

And they watched as the house burned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all for now! Thank you so much for reading once again. <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeta is trying hard to understand her King better but when a group of rebelling doctors are brought into the castle, he does something that overturns everything she has ever thought about him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm back with Chapter Five! I hope how I've portrayed Ivan is fine; I thought he would have a traumatic childhood which would explain his sadistic tendencies so I hope that's alright. :D
> 
> For old readers, in case you're confused about the change in order, I apologise for the mess-up of chapters. I have changed the order so the flow will be clearer. Do refer to Chap 1 for more of an explanation!

When Ivan was handed over to Queen Elizabeta by the farmer and a group of rowdy men and women demanding that he be punished for murdering his father, Elizabeta was more than ready to mete out his punishment. The Kingdom did not tolerate crime, it destroyed the peace that the previous King had brought. General Winter, he had been nicknamed, for he had discovered the mark on his right shoulder while serving as a general for the Knights. He had been firm and harsh, and anyone who broke the law would be immediately thrown into prison, though there were rumors of how he had tortured some into confessing to their crimes. Some said he would force them to immerse their feet in a bowl of centipedes, while others said that he would order for their nails to be ripped out one by one excruciatingly, but either way the King had been feared by everyone, though it was this fear that brought a low crime rate and order to the Kingdom. 

For quite a while, Elizabeta had heard rumors around the castle that someone had ruthlessly set his house on fire, intentionally leaving his poor father inside to die. The rumors spread like wildfire for even the people themselves were afraid that their lives would be disrupted. Change had always been something mankind dreaded. Elizabeta had pressed for information but had been disappointed to discover that her subjects were not even clear about the murderer’s name, or the time and venue of the incident. Eventually, Ivan was captured by his former landlord. 

Since the night of the fire, he and Katyusha had planned to escape the Kingdom, for the problem of his mark was still present and very real. But Ivan had known that there was no running away from his destiny, especially now that the previous King had passed on and the throne remained empty. He had asked Katyusha to make her way to the Kingdom of Diamonds, the nearest Kingdom, while he stalled for time, using the scarf Katyusha had given to him before she had left to cover up the Club. He had also been unsure if the farmer had heard his father shouting about him being the next King, hence he took caution to avoid the plump agriculturalist. For a time, Ivan believed that as long as he laid low, he could probably at least extend his freedom.

But one day, when he finally set foot in town, bleary-eyed and slightly taken aback by the hustle and bustle of the Kingdom after having camped several days in the woods, he overheard whispers of a man who had killed his father. “I heard the murderer has pale hair,” a woman hissed to the cashier. “How cruel, he let his father burn to death!”

Ivan had run out from the shop, not even bothering to take the bread from the counter.  
A week later, he was brought into the castle and forced to his knees, the hulking chains binding his wrists biting into his skin. Outside, he could hear the crowd chanting, “Murderer! Murderer!” over and over again, and he squeezed his eyes shut, willing for everyone to drop dead. Because only the dead don’t speak, it occurred to him.

And he watched the Queen approach him, her ash brown hair that tumbled over her shoulders giving her an air of superiority. She was young, probably because she had only recently stepped up to take the throne, and she reached over and grabbed Ivan by the collar of his shirt. Dazed, Ivan wondered why everyone always grabbed him by his collar.

“Did you murder your father?” she interrogated, her chartreuse green eyes bearing in to his. Ivan nodded. He knew it hadn’t been his fault. He knew it had been Katyusha who had stopped him. But he also knew that he had given up trying to clear his name and if they thought he was a killer, let them be. It would also save Katyusha any blame anyway. Whatever his punishment was, even if it was death, he was ready.  
At that moment, the scarf around his neck came loose and fell off, revealing the mark that had grown over his collarbone due to the delay he had created in accepting the throne. Elizabeta went slack-jawed and a startled gasp escaped her lips. Even her advisors’ hands flew to their mouths and they took a step back, unable to believe that the murderer they had been gossiping about was going to be their next ruler. Her stare flitted from Ivan’s mark to his face, who had been watching her soundlessly and coolly, his expression betraying not even the slightest of emotions. She narrowed her eyes, contemplating her choices. She admitted that she was having trouble taking up the King’s duty along with her own duties and that it would be nice finally having the new King by her side, but on the other hand the new King happened to be a murderer and the Kingdom awaited her decision. She also knew that she could not punish Ivan by death because if he died they probably had to wait for some time before another King was found. Normally, if a King or Queen were close to dying due to natural causes, the heir to the throne would be found relatively quickly due to the rapid emergence of the marks, though Ivan had been an exception. However, if one were to be killed before the age of forty, it might even take more than a decade before the next heir was discovered. Elizabeta did not think that she could handle the possibility of waiting for so much longer. She was not sure how long she could cope with the extra work, and Ivan looked like he was in his twenties. Still, as a woman of principle, she had to see that the appropriate punishment was carried out and after much consideration, Elizabeta made her decision.

“Throw him into the dungeons.” She would learn to cope. The Kingdom’s laws came first. 

Yet when the disease reared its ugly head, Elizabeta was forced to unlock Ivan’s prison to let him ascend the throne. She remembered how his thin frame had emerged from the dark room, crouching under the low doorframe, and how he had thanked her courteously as he came out. Ivan had grown a beard and his eyes were weighed down by dark eyebags, but he was still smiling. Is he emotionless or something? Elizabeta had thought. 

Since then, if she were to be honest, Elizabeta had to admit that Ivan was a good leader, in a way. She had observed him when he was meeting with the other Royals. He had handled every disagreement and every argument calmly, and she witnessed that even the strict King of Hearts was grateful to have another mediator to help him. The King of Aces, an auburn-haired male with a permanent frown on his face, even seemed to have grudgingly come to respect Ivan, as seen from the unexpected handshake he had offered. “Thank you for the tips on the economy. I-It was really helpful,” the man had muttered to Ivan bashfully, before turning on his heel sharply and leaving with his Queen teasing him from behind. It was at those times that Elizabeta wished she and Ivan could be like the other Kings and Queens. Sure, not everyone was in love like Arthur and Alfred, but she had always admired Emma and Lovino’s closeness, Ludwig and Kiku’s deep mutual respect for each other and Francis and Lili’s synergy. Ivan and her had nearly no chemistry at all, not even as rulers. Sure, there was the occasional polite nod and smile, but even when they were discussing the Kingdom’s matters they were always too awkward around each other and their conversations often went like this:

“I heard there’s been another patient in the south.”

“Oh really? I heard there’s been another in the west.”

“Oh.”

“Urm… Yeah… How are the hospitals going?”

“There aren’t enough beds for everyone.”

“Oh. Okay. I guess we should get some more. Fund the hospitals, maybe? I doubt the managers have enough money.”

“Yeah. We could set up more makeshift clinics too?”

“Okay. I’ll tell Roderich.”

“Sure. Is that all?”

“Yeah.” 

In addition, Ivan’s name was still tainted with what he had done years ago. Elizabeta could not blame Ivan. Even if she had been willing to forget Ivan’s past, it did not mean that the people did, or that Ivan did not hate her for imprisoning him. The people had gradually though reluctantly come to accept Ivan as their leader for they too knew that times were getting harder and a new ruler was needed urgently, plus Ivan had been able to prove himself so far. Nevertheless, not everyone was able to accept Ivan. Once, a few villagers had painted “DOWN WITH THE MURDERER. DOWN WITH THE KING” across the outer walls of the castle at night, though when Ivan was told he had only bowed his head in acknowledgement before continuing to down shots of vodka. Vodka. Yes, there was the vodka. Elizabeta seldom talked to Ivan about anything else besides work, but that did not stop her from monitoring him secretly. She did not know anything much about Ivan besides the title before his name, and she was curious. Her efforts had brought several sightings of the large man hiding away in his study, indulging in the strong-smelling drink while looking out through the tall windows. His back was often to her as she peered through the crack that she had made from surreptitiously opening the door. Sometimes, Elizabeta would catch him pausing his sipping and staring at the bottle, as if wondering to himself if drinking vodka was the right thing to do. He would mutter a few words that Elizabeta never succeeded deciphering before turning to a small portrait that hung on the wall. 

 

Elizabeta felt like a little girl snooping around, darting into Ivan’s study once when he was out. She almost laughed at how childish she must have looked, gathering her emerald skirts and heading over to the portrait that had piqued her inquisitiveness. In a way, it reminded her of when she was a child and how she and Gil would sneak into the orphanage caretaker’s office to peep at the documents. She had always been more interested in reading the details of other people but Gil had had a habit of looking for his first. He would pull out documents with his name on them and add words and drawings. (“The awesome Gilbert? Seriously?”) Elizabeta had to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing when she recalled how Gil had pulled out hers and exclaimed, “Wait, YOU’RE A GIRL?” But then again, even she had been a little confused then, so she had no right to make fun of him.

No, Eliza! The portrait! She scolded herself and focused on the picture in front of her before her thoughts of Gilbert wandered too far. He was, after all, in a different Kingdom now and had probably forgotten about her. The photograph was black and white and of a woman and three children, two girls and one boy. The boy, Eliza realized, was Ivan. He had the same nose that was too large for his chubby face, and the same violet eyes. He was standing beside two girls – Elizabeta assumed they were his sisters – one with short hair and a wide grin, the other with sterner eyes but a playful quirk was present in her lips. The woman resembled all three of the children, and she had her arms around them, her face captured in mid-laugh. Ivan’s mother. And Ivan was smiling; there was something different about his smile somehow. It seemed less strained and forced, but more free and natural. That, she realized, was Ivan’s real smile. Not the one she had been seeing. Something caught Elizabeta’s eye, and she noticed that part of the photograph had been torn off to fit the frame. A hand could be seen on the woman’s shoulder, and Elizabeta pondered if it belonged to Ivan’s father. Again, she found herself wondering about how Ivan was like before he became King. 

But then, as more and more people fell ill and their Kingdom fell deeper into the grasp of the mysterious disease, Elizabeta noticed how Ivan’s eyes darkened further and how his demeanor turned colder. Maybe his walls that had appeared to be so unbreakable in the past were finally crumbling due to the stress from the people. Maybe he was breaking like Alfred did. A thousand maybes occupied Elizabeta’s mind, the darkest ones hiding in the crevices of her thoughts, finally emerging when a group of doctors who had threatened to go on strike were brought in.

The guards ushered the horde of around twenty men and women into the main hall, where Ivan and Elizabeta sat at their respective thrones. Elizabeta stole a glance at the pale-haired sovereign. A sword rested against the throne, its blade covered with the ruby-encrusted scabbard that was indented with elaborate patterns around five clubs. Roderich, Jack of Clubs, stood beside Ivan and Elizabeta was taken aback at the realization that he had been watching her when their eyes met. The Jack coughed into his hand and turned away, and before Elizabeta could get confused about the fact that Ivan needed a sword and Roderich’s strange behavior, the guards started speaking.

“Your Majesties, these doctors went on a strike yesterday,” one of the guards told Ivan and Elizabeta. The Queen was not surprised. It had been months since the first patient had been discovered, and she could empathize with the doctors that they would rather be anywhere than in a hospital having to endure tortured screams. She understood that the morale had decreased steadily due to the lack of a cure though she was slightly irritated at having to deal with the doctors despite what they already had at hand, and was prepared to address the doctors in a rational manner when Ivan’s voice pierced the silence that had hung in the room, “Which one of you is the leader?”

The twenty doctors, pushed roughly to their knees by the guards earlier on, shuffled on their kneecaps and exchanged glances with each other. They were mostly middle-aged, except for a one or two bright-eyed youngsters who had probably rushed through their internship due to the misfortune of having to take up the job during that period. Some of the doctors had their eyes locked on Elizabeta and Ivan, their faces scrunched up indignantly and their lips curved downwards in obvious displeasure, while others, obviously more afraid of the Royals’ presence, looked away when Ivan’s own gaze swept across them. One woman with her hair pulled up into a tight bun eyed Elizabeta with exceptional resentment – Elizabeta could literally feel it radiating across the room – and the Queen suppressed the petulant urge to match the woman’s stare with an equally cold glare. 

“I am.” Immediately, all heads turned and everyone looked at the man who had stood up and walked forwards from the others. He had gray scraggly hair and a beard that appeared to have been left unattended for weeks. Wrinkles weaved across his aged forehead and the skin near his eyes had sunken from the tides of time. Yet, the finger he pointed at Ivan, then Elizabeta, was steady and sure, coupled with the intent scowl that carved more lines into his face. 

“I watched him die. He was destined for a bright future, I know a good doctor when I see one, and I treated him like my own son. Still, I watched him sink into insanity, watched him as he forgot his mentor and then his own name.” A pause as he shut his eyes and exhaled. “And then one day he stopped speaking… And breathing.”

The old man’s body shook with emotion. “And you, you are sitting here in the castle doing absolutely nothing! Not giving a damn that we all will one day be consumed by this horrible epidemic – the Kingdom is going down, Your Majesties!” he spat, globs of saliva showering the floor. 

“Yeah! What about your people!”

“We are not going to be the sacrifices anymore! We aren’t going to stay until we fall sick and die!”

“Do something about it!”

A hullabaloo arose and Elizabeta slammed her fist onto the armrest of the throne. “Silence!” she ordered, then after gathering herself, continued, “ We understand that you are greatly upset over the death of your fellow –“

“Understand? You don’t understand anything, my dear. You don’t even know his name!”

“You don’t mean what you’re saying!”

“You think you can placate us with such meaningless words?” 

“Enough.” At the sound of Ivan’s voice, the noise ceased and everyone spun around to focus on him. Ivan, who had been witnessing the entire exchange wordlessly, stood up and slowly reached for the hilt of the sword, giving off the impression of nonchalance and calmness. But Elizabeta did not buy the act, for her eyes had again wandered from the golden pommel of the sword to Ivan’s tight clasp on the grip, and his white knuckles had failed to escape her. 

“Why doesn’t anyone ever play nice?” Ivan murmured, letting his speech trail off while gradually pulling the sword out of the scabbard, revealing the wicked blade. The doctors’ eyes widened significantly and many began whispering nervously to their leader, but the old man merely grunted and crossed his arms stubbornly, his beady eyes following Ivan as he descended the steps of the throne. The scabbard was discarded uncaringly and a clatter rang out throughout the room. Elizabeta saw Roderich twitch, about to pick the scabbard up, but a glance at Ivan made the Jack pull back and remain. Ivan’s expression was unreadable, and Elizabeta felt herself grip the armrests of the throne, her body leaning forwards.  
“Ivan don’t,” she warned, her right foot unconsciously slipping to the stairs of her throne and her body all tensed up at the possibility of what Ivan was about to do. 

If Ivan heard her, he did not respond. Instead, he lowered his arm and let the point of the sword touch the floor, dragging it across the room as he approached the leader. The screeching that ensued made everyone in the room flinch and cover their ears, but the leader of the group merely tightened his jaw and Elizabeta’s own heart was producing a pounding that could rival the screaming of metal against marble. She watched open-jawed, as Ivan arrived in front of the leader, ending the long scratch he had made in the floor. 

“Well? What do you plan to do, huh?” the leader countered, and Ivan finally lifted up his head, his bangs falling away, and Elizabeta felt her heart stop at the way his eyes were bulging. Almost like his sword, Ivan’s eyes glinted with a menace that made her feel that her body had been thrown in ice, and for the first time, she feared the King. 

“You can’t stay quiet, can you?” Ivan’s lips were twisted into a sadistic smile, so different from that of the boy in the picture Elizabeta had seen. For a brief moment, Elizabeta wondered what had happened to the boy. 

Ivan raised the sword. Elizabeta’s reflexes kicked in and she jumped to her feet, screaming, “IVAN, NO!”  
But he had already rammed the sword into the old man’s chest, driving the point through his heart until it stuck out horrifyingly from his back, dripping in scarlet. The old man’s eyelids sprang wide open, his pupils inching towards where Ivan’s sword now protruded out, before moving bit by bit to Ivan’s face, where his features were manically distorted and the right edge of his lips was uncontrollably jerking upwards. 

“You… You monster,” he managed to choke out weakly.

“See? This is what happens to those who don’t play nice,” Ivan announced to the crowd before pulling the sword out with a sickening retch, causing the metallic smell from yet another spurt of blood to waft around the hall. 

The old man’s knees buckled and he sank to the ground, mouth still gaping in the little consciousness he had left. He pressed his palms to the floor, keeling over and sucking in oxygen in a last-ditch attempt to live. Drool slobbered from his parted lips, sprinkled with drops of blood as his body shut down. 

“Stop!” the other doctors cried at the sight of their senior. “We will do our jobs! Just stop!”

“I don’t believe you. You don’t sound sincere enough,” Ivan replied flatly. And then he shoved the old man backwards and plunged the blade downwards again, earning himself screams from the audience of his gruesome actions. 

“WE PROMISE!” the people wept. “WE PROMISE!” And they all pressed their foreheads to the ground in a begging position, biting their lips to curb their wailing and watching their own tears splash to the floor. 

Meanwhile, Elizabeta stood, frozen. Everything had happened so quickly, and she was at a lost of what to do. She could not believe what Ivan had done. He stabbed him, oh God, he stabbed him. Elizabeta wanted to run forwards to stop Ivan. She wanted to yell at him, to hit him for making such an impulsive mistake, but all she could see at that moment was Ivan’s lunatic expression that chilled her to the bone. She saw the vein sticking out in his temple, the way his eyeballs seemed to pop out of their sockets and how his lips had been pulled apart to reveal a completely psychotic grin. Murderermurderermurderermurderer. Her mind was on a roll and she had lost control of her own thinking. Ivan’s hands were splattered with the same viscous liquid that now stained the floor – the hands of a killer, Elizabeta thought. For so long, she had been trying to figure Ivan out, the man who was always wearing the thick scarf and cooping himself up in his study whenever he was not needed. She had been curious, interested – fascinated even – and perhaps a little melancholic at having discovered a piece of Ivan’s childhood, but at that instant, all of those emotions became overridden with one, and that was utter, absolute terror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the end for now! Thank you so, so much if you have stuck around since the first chapter, and a big thank you for reading once again! ~( *3*)~


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lovino sends a letter to Feliciano.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For old readers, in case you're confused about the change in order, I apologise for the mess-up of chapters. I have changed the order so the flow will be clearer. Do refer to Chap 1 for more of an explanation!

“ _Dear Feliciano,_

_How’s life working under the potato bastard? I hope he has been kind to you so far. (And that he hasn’t been force-feeding you any potatoes.) Speaking of food, are you eating well? How’s the situation at your Kingdom? We’re doing alright. At least for now, I guess. How are you managing the resources? I’ve heard that the Kingdom of Spades is splurging on finding a cure, but I haven’t heard anything from yours so far. After all, I haven’t exactly had a meeting with the other Kings (though it’s a good thing that I don’t have to see the stoic face of that “Luddy” of yours) for quite a while. You’re probably wondering why I’m asking so many questions at once, and the reason is that I’m aware that as the Jack you have an armful of responsibilities like healthcare, housing, agriculture and all that shit and honestly I have no fucking idea how Daan even copes (okay, maybe it’s because of the pay). So I’m a little worried about whether you will be able to cope. As far as I can remember, when you left for your new job you were still the dumb, airheaded little fucker I’ve watched grow up and it worries me that my stupid brother might cave under all the pressure that’s been around since this shit started. So do let me know how you’re doing. After all, it’s my responsibility as your elder brother to make sure that you’re safe and sound._

_Okay, I think that came out sounding really cheesy, but there’s no way I’m wasting ink and energy to rewrite that whole chunk again. But anyway, because we haven’t written to each other in a long time, I thought I’d update you on the current happenings in our Kingdom. Would you like to hear the bad news, or the really bad news first?_

_Fine, the really bad news first. I. Oh God, I have no idea where to start._

_Alright so I met Grandpa that day. He told me he had something important to tell me (déjà vu, yes?) and it was about that dumb heart problem of mine again. He said the old hag had sent him a letter telling him about how there was this Vargas who was the Jack of Diamonds. Like a really, really long time ago. And coincidentally, there had been a disease then too and everyone, even the guy’s own Kingdom, came after him for his heart. But that asshole ran away. He ran away, Feliciano, like a coward._

_… Damn, I know running away isn’t new to our family. No wait, we must have inherited the running away from that shitty ancestor of ours. I bet that’s the reason why you always fled from that weird girl who used to stare at you a lot (by the way I saw her that day and she’s actually quite pretty now, though she’s not my type) and why you and I have never successfully killed a spider before. But I digress._

_I know I’ve been running away from many things all my life, Feliciano, but this time I’m not going to. Grandpa tried persuading me to escape with him but I can’t. I have a whole Kingdom to lead; I can’t be a coward like that bastard. If you’re going to try persuading me to leave too, I suggest you save your energy and not try._

_I have a method to save the people though I’m not sure how long it will continue working. But as long as it works, I’m not going to leave. It’s a really scary thing, I never expected that I would have to deal with such a huge problem when I left for the castle. Sometimes, I kind of miss home. The simple times we spent in that humble house of ours, all the stupid things we did… Life seemed so easy then._

_Also, before I left, Grandpa said something really weird. He said, “I’m proud of you, Lovino” or some shit like that and I didn’t respond._

_Moving on to the other thing. I got a new guard recently. His name is Antonio Fernández something something (I don’t give a fuck) and right now I can’t decide whether he is more annoying than that old man we used to have as our neighbor. Crazy Carl, remember? I swear, that stupid fucker probably has thousands of other people’s photos plastered on his wall; taken from that creepy camera he always carries with him. And those binoculars oh my God. This Antonio is the exact opposite of Crazy Carl. How do I describe him? Imagine a tall guy. Add messy brown hair and tanned skin. Doesn’t sound too bad right? Now, throw in blindingly bright green eyes. And an even more blindingly bright grin and rays of sunshine. It hurts to look at that idiot, I tell you. Not to mention he seems to find the most random shit funny. Like we were visiting the people and for some reason he found it so fucking hilarious that a kid called me mean that he lost control and started acting like some insane maniac. Not to mention his laughter is fucking infuriating. The worst thing is, I’m stuck with this idiot until my original guard gets well. I reckon he’d be following me around for quite a while, I guess. Damn, I get a headache just thinking about him…_

_What the heck he just opened the door and claimed that he had entered my study by mistake. Which dumbass doesn’t know the King’s study? You should have seen his face though, all cheery and shit and then that smile of his literally fell off when he saw me. I have to admit he can be quite amusing sometimes._

_Wait why am I even wasting precious ink writing about that idiot? I guess that’s all for now. Do take care of yourself, okay? With the disease and all that. I’m sending a box of medicine along with this, make sure you, the potato bastard and Kiku drink a spoonful once in a while. You can give the rest to the people in your Kingdom but remember to prioritize the more serious cases first. I’m afraid I might not have enough to send to you the next time._

_Hope to hear from you soon._

_Yours truly,_

_Lovino_

Lovino folded up the parchment and inserted it carefully into the envelope, dripping the wax and stamping it with his Kingdom’s seal. He stared at the insignia, a capital A flanked by two lions on their hind legs, for a moment before calling for his servant to send the letter. The King then leaned back in his chair, looking up at the ceiling where his own face was reflected back at him in the polished marble. He took in his sleepless eyes and sunken cheeks, before pulling back his hand, disgusted, when he saw that he had unknowingly begun chewing his nails again. It was a habit he had developed recently, something that kept his hands busy whenever there was too much on his mind and too little that he could do about it.

There was a knock on the door, and Lovino braced himself for Antonio popping in again, mistaking his room for the toilet or _whatever the fuck_ but instead of the guard’s curls, a head of pale blonde appeared. It was Louise, one of Lovino’s most trusted servants, and her appearance could only mean one thing.   

“Your Majesty, the new batch of medicine has arrived.”

Lovino’s hand went to his arm again, where the bandage had been removed a few days ago. His body suddenly felt heavier, but his heart surged at the thought of doing something that would directly help his Kingdom and he stood up, giving Louise a firm nod.

"Alright. I'll get ready."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I'll be back soon. :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francis Bonnefoy is the King of Diamonds and a man infamous for his scandalous sex life, but what happens when he falls in love with someone whose heart has already been taken?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO! :D Here's Chapter 7, do enjoy! And I hope I have portrayed Francis accurately. :)
> 
> For old readers, in case you're confused about the change in order, I apologise for the mess-up of chapters. I have changed the order so the flow will be clearer. Do refer to Chap 1 for more of an explanation!

Francis Bonnefoy was the King of Diamonds, and he was infamous for one thing. Rumors whispered from the lips of servants to advisors to Queen to Jack (who had slammed his fist into the wall and swore that if the King ever so much as looked at his sister the wrong way, the Kingdom could wait two decades for a new ruler for all he cared because no one ever escaped unscathed after hurting Lili) spoke of uncountable nights spent with uncountable strangers filled with satin sheets and clothes being tossed carelessly onto the floor, though when King Francis took the throne, the boots he had slipped on had already been filled with dirt. His old neighbours were particularly chatty about his nightly activities, ranting to any soul with a craving for gossip involving the King about how they used to be unable to fall asleep due to the moaning coming from next door and had been extremely relieved the day Francis left for the castle.

The King himself was aware of his reputation, but made no effort to deny anything. He was a man who loved passion, sex and the beautiful release of pent-up tension through a night of love-making, and those who had been lucky enough to get an invitation to his bedroom – especially now that he was King – lived to tell of Francis’ talent in bed. They would recall the feather-like sensation of lips trailing against collarbone and the fire left behind by the smoothest of fingertips, but for the King it was different. Now that Francis was King, everyone he had spent the night with was too compliant and afraid to respond to his touches, scared to touch back. The blond wanted someone who could reignite the flames in him, someone who could give him back the energy he had lost, and he had found that someone in the form of forest green eyes and dark golden blonde tresses. But that someone had given him more than he had set out for, and soon Francis Bonnefoy, the man who hated commitment and never quite remained in the same relationship for long, found himself thinking of Jeanne in every possible moment. He had first seen her when he was passing by the Knights’ training grounds. The Knights seemed to have been taking a break, and while some sat aside disinterestedly gulping down water, others had formed a circle around what appeared to be a commotion. Francis’ own curiosity had been piqued and he had instructed his stewards to find out what was going on. One of them, a timid-looking man, had nodded earnestly before scurrying across the muddy field, disappearing into the ring of Knights. Francis had waited, leaning his weight onto his left foot and combing his long hair back. “I think it’s Jeanne, Your Majesty,” one of his other stewards had told him with a knowing smile, eyes never leaving the group.

“Who is this ‘Jeanne’? She sounds like a beautiful woman to me,” Francis had replied, a smirk playing on his lips.

However, his steward’s almond-shaped eyes had only twinkled, as if he knew something the King did not. “Oh _yes_ , Your Majesty. She is an amazing woman. Ever since the outbreak of the disease, she’s been training extremely hard and I heard that she’s rapidly climbing the ranks. She’s one of our best Knights, but Your Majesty, if you’re thinking about–“ the steward gave a cough, ”I’m afraid you’re not going to get any from her.”

Francis nodded slowly, the beginnings of an idea forming in his mind. He rubbed the stubble on his chin thoughtfully, and watched the other mousey steward of his hurrying back across the field.

“It’s Jeanne, Your Majesty. She’s dueling with Marcus…” The steward bit his lip, shifting his weight nervously. “Would you like to watch?”

Francis frowned, looking out towards the group of Knights who were now cheering and hooting. Gosh, he was _so_ going to ruin a pair of perfectly good shoes.

A moment and loads of yelping later, Francis finally arrived at the group and all the Knights, upon seeing their King, hastily knelt on one knee and greeted him. Francis nodded at them, gesturing for the Knights to continue, but his attention was on only one person. It was not extremely rare for women to join the Knights of Diamonds, but Francis was still slightly taken aback by the young lady in front of him, the wooden sword she had been using to train planted firmly in the ground. One of her seemingly dainty hands was still clutched around the wooden hilt even when she got on her knee, a sign that she was impatient to return to battle. A closer observation on Francis’ side revealed that Jeanne’s hands were far from ladylike – they were ridden with callouses and scars, the leftover souvenirs from combat. When Jeanne got up, her wavy hair, unruly from movement, fell from her face, revealing fierce green eyes that sparked with defiance and a jaw set in determination. She had a surprisingly fair complexion that had escaped the sweltering heat of the sun and a petite heart-shaped face that once again contrasted her ardent eyes. Sweat lined the top of her lips and trickled down the side of her face unceremoniously, but a rough swipe from her sleeve provided a temporary solution.

Jeanne nodded slightly in acknowledgement when she met her King’s eyes, sending him a look that seemed to be telling Francis that she was going to win the fight. Francis smiled back and waved his hand, gesturing for them to continue.

The two Knights got back into their stances, Marcus placing his sword over his right shoulder, his thick fingers raising the hilt above his collar, tip of his sword facing backwards while Jeanne lowered her sword, putting her left foot forward and bending her other knee, hilt held at her hip. Marcus, upon noticing his opponent’s stance, smiled smugly and from Francis’ point of view as a spectator, Marcus had gotten the upper hand because Jeanne’s pose seemed too open, too inviting – whereas Marcus looked like he was ready to strike, body tensed up and chest heaving, Jeanne looked too calm, and the front of her body remained unprotected. Nevertheless, she did not flinch from Marcus’ conceited smile and maintained her cool stare.

 _Maybe she’s going to go easy on him_ , Francis thought, and in his musing failed to notice Marcus throwing him a glance, eager to impress his King. Yet he had a feeling that Jeanne’s relaxed shoulders were only the calm before the storm.

“Ready?” Jeanne asked, her voice steady and impassive. Marcus responded by dashing forwards, his sword swinging downwards towards his opponent. Whatever doubt Francis had of Jeanne vanished quickly, when she retaliated with astonishing speed, her own wooden blade whistling through the air and coming into contact with Marcus’ with a loud clatter. For a moment, both Knights pushed firmly, but then Marcus’ earlier leer quickly made way for a look of panic when he realized that he had miscalculated and the back of Jeanne’s blade collided with the side of his own, forcing his arm diagonally downwards.

“Looks like I got your weak point, huh?” Jeanne taunted, as Marcus swiftly recovered from his shock and thrust the tip of his sword towards her, only to be blocked again when she parried. Marcus grunted in reply, maneuvering his sword to prevent her from striking him when she cut sideways. They struggled against each other for a while before pushing apart and circling each other slowly.

“He’s been her student for quite a while, Your Majesty,” Francis’ steward told him when he asked. “He has an ego as big as the castle, I’m afraid. He challenged his master even though he’s obviously not ready. Look.”

Francis observed the young man, who was currently aiming for Jeanne’s shoulder, but kept meeting her weapon instead. He was breathing heavily, and his palms sweated so much that he had to adjust his grip on the hilt. Francis saw that he was too restless, shifting his feet back and forth, distracted by Jeanne’s movements. “Focus, Marcus!” Jeanne’s eyes widened in recognition at Marcus’ legs, as if she had seen her student’s weakness resurface. She seemed to be calculating in her mind, deciding between going in for the kill and giving her student a chance. But when Marcus’ sword went down towards her again, she feinted to the left in one swift motion and with the flat of her sword, gave him one hard whack to his already unsteady knees, sending him falling.

The crowd gave several whoops, and it was then that Francis realized that they had been there just to watch Jeanne fight. He could tell from the looks of awe and admiration the Knights threw at the woman. Jeanne however, merely gave a small smile, a slight curl of her lips, and pulled Marcus up. “Good job, Marcus, your speed has improved. But you need to remember to concentrate more during battle. Your legs were shifting again just now, Remember what I’ve taught you, balance is very important when in combat,” she lectured, handing him his sword.

Marcus, pride still stinging from his loss, only managed a weak smile and a nod.

“Alright, let’s get on with our training, shall we?” Jeanne told the other Knights – the “class” she had been leading – and they earnestly grabbed their own training weapons, pumping their fists in the air and hollering what Francis guessed was a battle cry. Jeanne shot the King one last look, silently thanking him for bothering to watch them, and Francis felt an unexpected flutter in his chest as he dipped his head in return. His heart was pounding hard, and for a second he forgot that he was King. For that instant, King Francis was just Francis, and he was just like any other man gradually falling in love, standing transfixed, eyes not-so-subtly following Jeanne’s back as she walked away, his head becoming lighter and lighter until he was sure that if he kept staring at her like that he was going to float away like an air balloon. The realization struck him dizzily in quite a literal manner, and for the rest of the day (and the following weeks) all he could think about was how graceful Jeanne had been when she dealt her blows, how her sword had swooped beautifully through the air, how she had looked at him after the fight, how she had moved with such confidence, how her hair had still looked perfect even with all the sweat… Whenever Francis got someone over to spend the night, his heart was no longer in it and all of a sudden no one could draw even a single moan from him. He would push himself off the bed, or push them off him half-heartedly, saying that he wished to be alone. It wasn’t completely a lie, but a pair of forest green eyes and smooth lips would occupy his mind, as if accusing him of cheating on them when there was no relationship to betray in the first place, and Francis would feel guilty. In Francis’ dictionary, “guilt” had never been one of the words but since the day he met Jeanne, it had been smacked onto the pages, bolded, enlarged and put into italics.

Francis thought that if he continued being that way, he would be driven to madness sooner or later, plus if he kept on being unable to focus, the Kingdom’s affairs would be neglected. Though the short-tempered Vash handled most of the major areas of managing the Kingdom, the King was still very much needed to handle the diplomatic issues and to make decisions. It was that way in all of the Kingdoms, though in one or two things were a little bit different. While the King acted as the main representative of the Kingdom, the Queen was often the person who would meet up with her people to hear their troubles out. She was the one who dealt with affairs directly related to the people’s welfare, working closely with the Jack in the health sector. Yet this was different in the Kingdom of Aces, where the people saw and interacted with King Lovino more often than they did with Queen Emma, and for the Kingdom of Clubs, where both King and Queen seldom talked with the people personally. The ongoing crisis about the disease was impossible to ignore, and Francis needed to stop getting distracted. He kept himself busy with work, holding meetings and discussions with his advisors so often that even they were puzzled, and having coffee with Lili during his free time to keep his mind off Jeanne. It was a difficult thing to do, for though Francis was infamous for his one-night stands, when he fell in love he fell hard.

When Francis had taken the throne, he had to be married to Lili, a soft-spoken lady with innocent eyes and a polite smile. Both of them were aware that it was merely a custom, something that each King and Queen had to do, and accepted their lack of romantic feelings for each other. Marriage between the King and Queen, though not necessarily requiring real love, was still a formal and legal tie, and to fall in love with someone else was considered inappropriate, reason being that the King or Queen would spend less time running the Kingdom and that the bond between the King and Queen would weaken. It was an unspoken rule, yet it was not uncommon for Royals to break this rule for love, despite having sworn to give a hundred percent of their attention to the Kingdom and only the Kingdom. After all, the Kings and Queens had all once been normal people just going about their lives, and wearing a crown or holding a staff was not enough for them to forget their past. In a way it was a downside of the whole ascend to Royalty, an invisible barrier that kept the Royals from having their own personal lives.

Francis was now leaning against this barrier, his hands pressed forlornly to the wall, still unable to do anything about it. He might be willing to push against the blockade, but Jeanne was different, he soon realized. Francis loved Jeanne, but Jeanne loved the Kingdom. And nothing could change that.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeanne has contracted the disease and Francis is at a loss of what to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For old readers, in case you're confused about the change in order, I apologise for the mess-up of chapters. I have changed the order so the flow will be clearer. Do refer to Chap 1 for more of an explanation!

It had been two months since the first time Francis had seen Jeanne training, and it was midnight when Francis was roused by loud chattering outside his bedroom. He rubbed his eyes and yawned, kicking the thick blanket aside forcibly and pulling back the doorknocker. His stewards were standing outside, their faces made visible by the sole burning flame of a candle, and they had been discussing something among themselves. Now, upon seeing their King leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and face written with annoyance, they immediately turned all of their attention on him. Responding to the upturn of Francis’ eyebrows, they said urgently, “It’s the Queen, Your Majesty.”

A shared glance of hesitation. “And Jeanne. They snuck out and have just returned…”

More nervous shuffling and Francis yawned dramatically, pushing himself off the door frame and moving to close the door. The stewards got the message and the less timid one continued hastily, “There’s something wrong with Jeanne, Your Majesty. She… We think she’s caught the disease.”

Even before the stewards could finish, Francis had snatched the candleholder from them and was already marching down the corridor. The candle’s light illuminated the path in front of him, bringing light to the portraits hanging on the walls. They were of the previous Kings and Queens of Diamonds, each portrayed the way the Royals had wanted themselves to be shown, and Francis’ would be put up when his time as King was over. He had gotten his own portrait done a month after his ascension, and he had been painted leisurely sipping a glass of wine, his long hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, while Lili had requested to be painted with Vash, and the two of them had posed on a bench in the castle’s gardens, sipping tea. Normally, Francis would take a moment to admire the paintings, testing his memory as to which Royal was which and daydreaming about the day his portrait would be nailed onto the castle’s walls. But on that very night, he could not give a damn about the works of art. His feet felt like they were moving on their own, and his mind was still struggling to catch up with the news the stewards had just delivered. Questions kept firing from his brain: why did they sneak out? Why was Lili with Jeanne? Was Jeanne alright? Where were they? As Francis rounded a corner, one thing finally got to him, like an arrow finding the bull’s eye at last.

 _“We think she’s caught the disease.”_ Jeanne was suspected of having caught the disease. The disease that had been haunting the Kingdom – and the other Kingdoms – for months. The disease that had driven people to insanity and disfigured their faces to mere boils and pus. Images of Jeanne, stumbling into the main hall, throwing up blood all over the place and her lovely face ruined by rapidly emerging welts plagued Francis’ head, nasty products of his over-active imagination and in his panic, he failed to notice the group of people heading towards him. Fortunately, a collision was avoided in the nick of time, and under the light of the candle, Francis saw that it was Lili and her maids.  

The Queen’s normally thin frame seemed even more frail and pale under the pathetic lighting, and she was being supported by her maids. Her usually bright face was now in the state of shock, her glassy eyes remaining fixated at the floor before resting on Francis. “I…” Lili opened her mouth, then shut it again, her voice caught in her throat.

“What happened? Where is Jeanne? How is she?” Francis bombarded Lili with questions. He needed answers, he needed an explanation and most of all, he needed to see Jeanne. At Francis’ lack of concern for her, hurt flashed briefly in Lili’s eyes but she realized that she was not surprised. After all, she had noticed the way Francis had looked at Jeanne whenever they had coffee in the balcony overlooking the training grounds. Lili would talk to him, but sometimes he would be so engrossed in watching the Knight using various weapons that he would not reply. The Queen would stop talking to observe Francis, who would rest his chin on the palm of his hand as he gazed on, eyes clouded with longing and the occasional hint of jealousy whenever Jeanne’s teaching involved her touching other Knights. Lili had known that Francis was smitten with the Knight, but had not thought much about it due to her knowledge of Francis’ nightly habits. In fact, she was a little pleased that the frequency of his “activities” had decreased and that that meant he was serious about Jeanne, and though she often felt a bit indignant at how Francis would get distracted at times during meetings and how he had managed to fall in love while she had strictly managed her feelings so she could focus whole-heartedly on the Kingdom, she figured out that she had no say in Francis’ life and that it might injure their professional relationship if she ever spoke about it to him. Thus, she pretended not to know about Francis’ feelings for Jeanne. Most people did not see past the polite and nice girl front the Queen put up, often assuming that she did not really mind anything, but behind her well mannered smile was a fierce sense of responsibility and her amicable eyes were highly observant. If the Royals were the face of the Kingdom, Lili would be the eyes – she made it her priority to keep herself up to date with the Kingdom’s happenings, and that included interacting with the people.

At that moment, the Queen took a few deep breaths to compose herself and shooting a thankful look to the maids who were gently patting her back reassuringly, answered, “She’s in the infirmary. She–“

Francis did not even give her a chance to finish and was already running away. Lili stared after him, thinking to herself again that Francis had stopped listening to her two months ago before letting herself be led into her room by the maids.

When the young King arrived in the infirmary, a rather small room in one of the top floors of the castle, he encountered a guard at the entrance. Impatient, Francis tried to push past them, only to be stopped.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but you can’t enter. It’s too dangerous, we don’t know how the disease spreads and we can’t risk you falling ill,” the guard, who had a bushy beard, pointed out.

“On whose orders, may I ask?” Francis was growing increasingly snappy by the minute and he had to bite back the urge to just push past the guard and into the room. The fact that Jeanne was just behind the door was sufficient to rile up his nerves and make his heart thrum faster in anticipation.

“Jeanne’s, Your Majesty. She told us to keep her away from everyone else. She doesn’t want anyone in the castle to get infected.”

 _Of course, Jeanne would put others first._ Francis pinched the bridge of his nose, quelling the irritation that had been building up in his chest. _I should respect her decision._

“Alright. But is it okay if I take a peek? From here?”

The guards ended up opening the door just a crack for Francis to look through, and the blond Royal had to look around the room before he finally spotted Jeanne. She was lying on the bed at the far end of the room, and from his position Francis could make out Jeanne’s form. The apricot blonde had her shoulder pressed into the mattress as she lay on her side, and Francis could tell that she was probably sleeping. Her back was heaving sporadically, a sign of uneven breathing, and she seemed to be gasping for air. A stab of concern rippled through Francis as it hit him that Jeanne was having difficulty breathing, and all he wanted to do was rush forward and to hold her, but a voice in his head reminded him that Jeanne was strong and independent, and probably thought nothing of him except the fact that he was the King. That was one of the main things that aided Francis in controlling his desire and adoration for Jeanne, one of the things that strengthened the barrier separating him and the Knight. He somehow knew that it was highly unlikely that he would ever have a chance of being with Jeanne as lovers, and was content to merely watch her from a distance.

Just then, Jeanne turned around, and Francis felt his breath hitch as her face, twisted in discomfort and pain, came into view. The tell-tale welts had already begun to appear on her previously immaculate skin, turning the pigment to a blotchy shade of red. The entire left side of her cheek and jaw was swollen and mumbling in her sleep, Jeanne reached up to scratch at the area, her chipped fingernails scraping the raw skin and causing it to redden further. Her eyebrows were furrowed and she sniffed loudly, another sign that her nose was running. Francis didn’t trust what he was seeing. He couldn’t believe that the girl who had been swinging axes, throwing daggers, wielding swords and doing push-ups was now lying on the mattress and slowly falling victim to the disease. When he had first met her, he had been completely and utterly struck by how strong and robust she was, and it had been enough to deceive him into thinking that she was fit enough to escape the clutches of the disease. But there she was, on the bed. She might have won many battles, but she had lost to the disease. The more he thought about it, the more Francis became frustrated and he pulled back from the door, looking to the guards.

“Is there anything we can do?” he asked, his expression hopeful but deep down he already knew that there was nothing much they could do. He had kept himself updated with the Kingdom doctors’ progress on a cure, but so far nothing had worked and the doctors had all reported that the possibility of there being a cure soon was close to zero. Those who fell ill were merely given painkillers and kept in the Kingdom’s hospital to minimize human contact as much as possible, but there had been cases of patients who were already in the terminal stage escaping from the wards and coming into contact with the public, spreading the disease further. The guards informed Francis that they would be bringing Jeanne to the hospital the next day and that Lili had to remain in her room so they could make sure that she had not caught the disease. The one thing that puzzled Francis the most, however, was why Lili and Jeanne had snuck out in the first place.

“Jeanne has been sneaking out for quite a while, Your Majesty. Every night she brings food to the hospital and volunteers for the night shift to replace the doctors who are ill. Tonight, Her Majesty caught her but instead of telling her off, asked to come along. Jeanne tried dissuading her but Her Majesty kept on insisting and even ordered Jeanne to show her the way to the hospital. On the way back from the hospital, Jeanne suddenly threw up blood and Her Majesty managed to bring her back to the castle.”

When Francis heard the guard’s recount, he was unable to stop the sad smile that appeared on his face, complementing his crystal blue eyes that flooded with melancholic understanding and for a moment the dread that had been slowly turning his body cold morphed into a dash of wistfulness. _I knew it. Jeanne would do that._

That was another one of the main reasons behind why Francis was happy just to be able to watch Jeanne from behind the concrete railings of the veranda. Unlike most of the women he had met so far, Jeanne had not a single bit of fragility in her, and it seemed to Francis that every fibre of her being was being put into serving others. Yet this was a trait that had contributed to Francis’ admiration for her, and it was one of the things that he loved the most about Jeanne, wishing that he could be the person to give her the care she had been giving to others before herself.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty.”

“What do you mean?” Francis eyed the guard, who had a rueful expression on his face.

“I don’t think there’s much we can do for Jeanne. But we will do our best to ensure she is comfortable in the hospital.”

Francis nodded in acknowledgement, taking another glance at Jeanne’s sleeping form through the gap in the door. She had turned around again, and her short hair was now splayed across the pillow, her knees brought towards her stomach. Her breathing seemed more regular now, and she was moving around less. The King closed the door of the infirmary carefully, before turning to walk away. Then, when a thought occurred to him, Francis turned to the guard once more and asked, “How did you know?”

The guard smiled, stroking his beard. “I’ve seen the way you look at her, Your Majesty. A lot of us have. And she’s one of our best and kindest Knights, so it’s only right that we help her.”

Feeling the first hint of warmth ever since the news about Jeanne had been broken to him, Francis smiled back. _“Thank you.”_


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Kingdom of Spades has been hit the worst by the disease.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For old readers, in case you're confused about the change in order, I apologise for the mess-up of chapters. I have changed the order so the flow will be clearer. Do refer to Chap 1 for more of an explanation!

“Your Majesty.”

“Yes?” 

There was a rustling of robes as the King of Spades turned around from the window. Outside, the rain fell in a melancholic melody against the glass and the wind sent the velvet curtains billowing around the tall man, leaving his blond hair in darkness. Yao noticed that the King had yet again forgotten to light up the room and slightly irritated, asked, “Your Majesty, would you like someone to light up the chandelier for you?”

“No.” Bold, blue eyes, now shades darker due to the shadows, met Yao’s chestnut brown ones. 

“It’s fine,” the King said simply, turning away from his Jack yet again and clutching the curtains gingerly as he gazed outside. Thunder crashed, the lightning lighting up the room momentarily and Yao jumped, but the King did not even flinch. 

“Your Majesty,” Yao said again. “I… Urm…” He chewed on his lower lip again and shuffled hesitantly, gripping the papers in his hand. 

“There’s been another case.”

Yao watched helplessly as his King’s hold on the curtain seemed to tighten, then loosen, before slowly trailing down the smooth fabric and falling to his side limply. 

“Yao,” the King’s voice had fallen to a whisper. “Get the Queen.”

Yao opened his mouth to protest, balling his free hand into a fist. It was his responsibility as the Jack to help the King, he had to bring the King back to Earth – back to the Kingdom. The Kingdom needed their King more than anything at that moment. They all needed him. Gathering whatever courage he had, Yao remarked, “Your Majesty, this cannot go on! Your Kingdom needs you-“

“I SAID GET THE QUEEN!” the King yelled, slamming his fist into the wall. The storm bellowed yet again, making the King’s glasses flash menacingly. Yao wasted no time running out of the room.

After his Jack’s footsteps faded and all that was left was the symphony of the rain, Alfred finally let out the breath that he had been holding. Luckily, the room was too dark for anyone to see his tears.

Long ago, there were five kingdoms, ruled by five Kings and five Queens. The Kings and Queens were aided by a Jack each, and together they were the main rulers of their respective kingdoms. Each were born with a mark on their bodies, and it was through this mark that they were identified as the next ruler of the Kingdom. Most of them proved themselves as capable leaders, and for centuries, there was little war and harmony existed between five of the kingdoms. Alfred F. Jones, whom you have already met, was found with a mark in the shape of a spade on his right shoulder and hence has been leading the Kingdom of Spades as King for quite a while. Yao was discovered with his mark on the back of his neck, hence determining him as the next Jack. The current Queen lives by the name of Arthur Kirkland, who found the mark on his back and thus donned the crown. With Alfred’s leadership, Arthur’s support and Yao’s wisdom, the Kingdom of Spades soon rose to great heights, with flourishing agriculture, a booming economy and the people were satisfied. But all doesn’t seem to be well, as we return to our Jack of Spades, now running through the castle halls to get the Queen…

Yao found Arthur in his study. After knocking on the door and hearing Arthur say to come in, Yao entered and was immediately hit by a sharp and pungent smell. He was once again reminded of his dilemma as to whether he preferred Alfred or Arthur. The former could be quite temperamental at times, especially due to the rising number of people falling victim to the disease, but he could also be friendly and cheerful. The latter had a mood that could be compared to the colour of the skies that night – grey and overcast – but Yao thought that Arthur was the more sensible out of the two. Alas, he failed to pick yet again, but before he could consider further, Arthur’s voice pierced through his thoughts. 

“Yes, Yao? I apologise for the smell, I was working on another potion… The previous one didn’t quite work out…” Arthur’s voice trailed off as he transferred a bright blue liquid into another container carefully. Yao watched, eyes glued to Arthur’s hands as he set the container down and peeled off his gloves. 

Arthur turned to him, and the burns on his hands made Yao wince. “Your Majesty, allow me to tend to those,” Yao told Arthur, heading over to the cabinet in which he knew Arthur kept his medical supplies.

“Thank you, Yao.” Arthur’s smile was small and tired, and as Yao returned to his Queen, he noticed the eyebags under Arthur’s eyes had become more prominent. His eyes, like Alfred’s, had lost their shine and while they used to sparkle with wit and a dash of arrogance, they were now dull and lifeless. The realization of how much Arthur was doing for the Kingdom leapt out at Yao, and as he took his Queen’s hand to clean up the burns, he found that Arthur’s wrist had become bonier. “Your Majesty, may I know how the cure is going?” he asked.

Arthur’s eyes flashed with something. Disappointment? “I… I can’t quite get the spell right,” he sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“Your Majesty, please do not apologise. You are already doing your best and I know the people will thank you for that. But you do need to get more sleep, you are barely getting enough rest,” Yao advised, bandaging up Arthur’s hands.

Arthur seemed like he failed to hear any of Yao’s words. “I doubt I will be able to do much about it. Even the Kingdom’s best doctors have failed and now even we are failing as rulers,” he told Yao dejectedly. 

Yao missed how everything used to be. There was a time when he had to endure Arthur’s sarcasm and not-so-kind words (though most of them were directed to Alfred and that provided entertainment for him and the other subjects at least), leading to him feeling that there would never be a strong bond between him and the Queen unlike the other Kingdoms. He recalled Arthur would sometimes come down to the kitchen in his free time to see what the cooks were making, and would sheepishly ask them to teach him their latest recipe. “I would like to try cooking something for everyone,” he would say, before coughing into his hand, embarrassed. Of course, the cooks tried, but after everyone in the castle had to swallow down twenty blackened dishes, Alfred had told Arthur quite kindly that cooking was not in his veins. Arthur had hit the laughing King on the shoulder and sulked for an entire day. And then there was the King. The King, whom everyone loved and enjoyed the company of. The King, who would visit his subjects during the day (“Good morning! You guys look great in your uniforms today! Keep up the good work!”), who would not mind getting his robes dirty as he enthusiastically cleaned the stables (“Wow! The horses sure are cute! Why not you let me take care of them for today?”), who would laugh off his wounds after hurting himself accidentally with the gardening shears (“Hey, how do you guys even prune bushes? It seems so tough, I should learn how to do it too! Then I can make a bush in the shape of Artie or something hahaha!”). Every dinner was filled with Alfred’s boisterous laughter and Arthur’s snarky remarks, often followed by the giggling of the maids who probably secretly loved watching Alfred and Arthur’s interactions. Alfred was generous, and specially requested for everyone to eat together at a common time. “Everyone always works so hard! It’s only right we all eat at the same time!” he said, and Arthur only rolled his eyes and mentioned that the dining room was not big enough, though eventually the knights, maids and advisors all had a common dinnertime. 

Then the disease stroke. It was only one person, initially. Everyone thought it was merely the common flu, but within days another three people started showing the same symptoms. The flu-like symptoms went away after a week and made way for worse signs. Boils would appear on the skin and noses would bleed non-stop, while the victims slowly started losing their minds. It was something no one had seen before. Within two weeks, patients could completely lose the ability to speak or think clearly, and some would wake up screaming or wailing. As the disease spread, it became clear that an epidemic was on its way. The doctors were called into the castle and given special orders by the King to start working on a possible cure, but none of them succeeded. Even the other Kingdoms were sending letters over to the Kingdom of Spades, all speaking of the mysterious disease. Only the Kingdom of Aces and the Kingdom of Hearts seemed unaffected so far. More people fell victim to the strange disease, and as the death toll rose, the rulers became more and more desperate. Alfred lost his laughter and Arthur’s comebacks faded. Both lost their appetite as they became increasingly caught up with the troubles of the Kingdom. People were knocking on the doors of the castle, and for a period of time the King opened the main hall for the Kingdom’s people to speak out their concerns. Most came to him begging for him to do something, but even the King was at a loss. He did not understand the disease; no one did. He was utterly helpless, and it broke him. The castle doors were closed and no one was allowed to come in.

“I need to be alone,” Alfred had said to everyone one day at dinner. His voice had sounded strangely strangled and he slowly rose from his seat, wobbling slightly as he headed back to his room. From then onwards, he stayed mostly inside and whenever anyone saw him, his eyes were lifeless and his face was a deathly shade, and when he walked down the stairs he would let his hand trail limply over the railings while his feet moved in a robotic fashion, seeming like he was staring ahead into thin air. Arthur, seeing that the King was obviously out of shape, took matters into his own hands and began research into ancient spells that could cure the disease. Before he was discovered to be the Queen, he had been a mage’s apprentice after all. He spent hours cooped up in his study, trying spell after spell, and his subjects soon became concerned because on some nights they could hear him crying softly through the door. He took up some of Alfred’s duties as well, reading through all of the letters the people sent in and trying to write replies. The letters came in flocks, demanding that the King solve the problem immediately. The people were getting more and more restless and as the days passed, Alfred’s condition got worse. He barely talked, and only Arthur could get more than a sentence out of him. On one of the nights, Yao overheard the both of them talking. 

“I’m scared,” Alfred had said, his voice pleading and afraid. “I don’t know what to do.”

And Arthur had not replied, only pulling Alfred towards his chest as the King wept, because for somehow, Arthur knew that there was nothing that could save the Kingdom.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Antonio dances with Lovino at the carnival the people has thrown to celebrate the Kingdom's anniversary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'SUP! I'm back with Chapter 10, this time with the first major Spamano moment, I guess. :) I'm sorry if the ending seems too rushed though, I've been kind of busy recently so. In this chapter, Lovino tries leading Antonio in dancing, but then realises that he can't lead for nuts. This was inspired by my own experience: my class had to take these ballroom dancing lessons and though I had paired up with my female friend I had to take the "guy's role" because I was taller, and I totally failed at leading. My partner kept complaining about how bad I was and how I was smiling so much though she didn't mean it and I kept staring at her feet because 0 confidence. Now that I think of it, it's actually quite funny. 
> 
> ANYWAY, thank you for kudos-ing and commenting! Do enjoy!
> 
> Trigger Warning: Lovino uses his knife to slice his palm in order to save one of his people. I won't be using any cutting of wrists because it's extremely triggering for me haha. If you find any of the material I write triggering, even if it's only slightly, please do let me know.
> 
> For old readers, in case you're confused about the change in order, I apologise for the mess-up of chapters. I have changed the order so the flow will be clearer. Do refer to Chap 1 for more of an explanation!

It had been another one of the Queen’s ideas again. The people were holding a carnival in celebration of the Kingdom’s anniversary, and Emma had insisted that she and the King had to attend as the guests of honour. Not that Antonio was actually aware of how his Kingdom came to be, he only knew about a vague story that involved the first King of Aces discovering an abandoned castle that for some reason, had the words “Castle of Aces” carved into the first cobblestone of the long path leading to the castle. The Kingdom of Aces was the last Kingdom to be set up, and the Kingdom of Hearts had been its closest ally, in the sense that the King of Hearts had helped the King of Aces build his Kingdom. Even till today, the Kingdom of Hearts and the Kingdom of Aces still had a relatively close relationship, which was ironic because Lovino could never look at King Ludwig without glaring. Well, their thriving trade ties were probably a result of the fact that Lovino’s younger brother, Feliciano, was Jack of Hearts and therefore was in charge of most of the economic issues of his Kingdom. After the first King of Aces moved into the castle and the Queen was soon discovered, people migrated from the other Kingdoms and beyond to the new Kingdom, so in a way the Kingdom of Aces had sprung up from the blood of the other Kingdoms. The day the first group of people migrated to the Kingdom of Aces was the day the Kingdom had been formally “born”, and that was decided to be the date of its anniversary.

After a round of warm welcoming by the people, which involved fanfare and a constant showering of confetti and rosewater, Antonio was finally able to thoroughly soak in the atmosphere. An upward glance revealed multiple lines of fairy lights being hung from balcony to balcony, accompanied by the specks of stars in the night sky, and everywhere else he looked, Antonio could see stalls set up by families. While the carnivals of previous years were far more extravagant and crowded, Antonio could tell that the preparation for the carnival had been quite rushed, from the way some were still rushing to carry cakes from their house to a simple-looking table they had set up outside and how most people were merely dressed in their everyday clothes. Perhaps it had been the work of the disease, but Antonio felt comforted by the fact that the way the Kingdom was lighted up that night and the way the stars shone for them proved that they had not completely lost to the illness, and the happy smiles on the faces of the people supported that. He brushed off a stray piece of confetti on his shoulder and ran his fingers through his hair, feeling the dampness from the rosewater that had been sprinkled onto the King and Queen’s entourage earlier on.

Antonio stifled a laugh when he saw that the King was still trying to get a stubborn piece of confetti out of his auburn hair while muttering, “Stupid people… Who thought it was a good idea to throw this kind of shit?” But from the way his mouth kept threatening to curl into a smile and the way Emma giggled and reached up to gingerly pluck the paper off his head showed that his words carried no anger.  Emma caught Antonio’s eye and giggled harder, tilting her head sideways. It was a habit that Antonio recognized.

Emma and Antonio had been childhood friends. They had grown up together, often seeing each other often since they lived next door. Antonio still remembered the Emma then, a chubby little girl who often had her beige blonde hair pulled back into two cute pigtails. He remembered that when he was younger, he had been a lot more introverted and used to not like going out of the house, preferring instead to help in the garden or to play with the toy knights his elder brother had given him as a birthday present. He had been extremely interested in knightship and loved imagining that he was commanding his toy knights, and Emma had discovered this one day when she found him dramatically waving a branch at one of his family’s tomato plants, yelling, “Surrender, Sir Tomato! Or you shall face my wrath!” But of course, Antonio had loved tomatoes too much to hurt them. (“But alas, Sir Tomato, I can’t bear to kill you!”) The young girl had stood across the fence, asking if Antonio wanted to play with her and the boy had dropped his branch, embarrassed that he had been caught pretending to be fighting with a tomato.

“You can choose whatever you want to play,” Emma had suggested. “My brother has a couple of wooden swords that you could use.” At the mention of swords, Antonio’s eyes had lit up and he had dashed to Emma’s gate after asking for his parents’ permission. From that day onwards, Emma and Antonio had played almost every afternoon and their most favourite activity had been playing make-pretend. Antonio had loved playing the knight and Emma had loved acting as the princess. They would create an obstacle course out of chairs and tables, and Emma would enlist her brothers to help. They had been mostly unwilling, but she had always managed to get Henri to be the evil monster (though he had been a rather weak monster, often losing after a stab from one of Daan’s wooden swords) and Daan had been a great guardian of the treasure, because for some reason, he had always been super protective of the fake shiny coins. Daan had been Antonio’s greatest nemesis in the living room, and his stoic face and crossed arms were often enough to awake the childish determination in the bright-eyed kid, to the point where he would spend hours strategizing how he could get the treasure. Interacting with Emma and her brothers had brought Antonio out of his shell and together with puberty, had turned him into the man most people knew him as: the upbeat, ever-optimistic guy who was always smiling, and whom everyone had expected to expand his family’s small farm business due to his talent in gardening, but he had applied to join the Knights of Aces, much to his parents’ chagrin. Antonio had moved to the castle to begin his training relatively early in his teenage years, and throughout his occasional visits back home he had watched Emma grow from a talkative girl into a mature-but-still-slightly-immature woman and had considered asking her out for a date, but he had thought that it would be weird due to how he had grown up treating her as a best friend and sister. Nevertheless, when Emma had been taken to the castle years after Antonio had started his training, he had been convinced that they were meant to work together. “Maybe one day I will save you from a fire-breathing dragon,” he had teased her when she had walked past the line of Knights standing at attention outside the castle waiting for her arrival. Emma, upon seeing Antonio, had stopped to exchange a few words with her childhood friend, whom she had not seen for quite a while apart from his rare visits.

“Are you sure? I’ve got tons of Knights at my command now Toni,” she had joked, smirking and gesturing to the line of Knights.

Antonio had shaken his head, smiling at her usage of his nickname. “Well, I guess I have to call you Your Majesty now, right? Looks like your wish has finally come true,” he had continued, voice thick with nostalgia. Emma’s eyes had been flooded with emotion and she had reached out and hugged her best friend.

“Good luck, Your Majesty,” Antonio had managed to force out despite how tightly Emma had been squeezing him.

“Thank you, Antonio. Thank you for _everything_.”

Now, when Emma had found out that Antonio had been chosen to be the new guard, she had been overjoyed unlike the King, whose face had fallen when he had realized that the two of them knew each other. “Great, now I have two idiots by my side,” he had lamented when they had been making their way to the carnival.

* * *

 

The organizer of the carnival, an excitable young woman who seemed to be unable to stand still for even a second, was currently announcing for everyone to gather in the town’s square for the dance segment. Antonio waited for Emma and Lovino to move in front first before taking his place behind, face splitting into a grin when Emma sent him a look that said, _“Catch up with you later!”_ that was closely followed by a look from Lovino that said, _“What are you grinning for, you bastard.”_

Antonio knew that he could be a bit oblivious at times, but even he could tell that the King was a lot harsher to him than to his other subjects. For example, he never heard Lovino scolding the other guards. Words like “idiot”, “fool” and “stupid” were only thrown at him and Antonio took them all like the _well_. Fool he was.

Maybe it was because of how whenever his King fired those words at Antonio, his face would be dusted with pink, though whether it was from anger or blushing, Antonio did not know, and Antonio found that sight rather endearing. Or maybe it was because Antonio’s skull was just really too thick like what everyone around him often said. But Antonio kept on trying, because he really wanted Lovino to like him. So he took whatever opportunity he had to help the King, until the other guards started making fun of him for “having the hots for His Majesty”. Alright, maybe offering his hand to help the King up his horse was a bit too much, since Lovino normally did it on his own. Antonio still remembered the incredulous look on the other’s face when he had extended his hand, saying, “Allow me to help you up, Your Majesty!” Lovino’s eyes had nearly popped out of their sockets and he had smacked the tanned hand in front of him away, much to the other guards’ amusement.

The petite announcer was standing on top of a small makeshift stage, a loudspeaker in hand as she announced for the King and Queen to make the opening dance. “Now, may we invite our dearest His and Her Majesties to open this wonderful evening for us!”

Unfortunately, Emma had run off a while ago, exclaiming that she had seen Henri and Lovino stood, frozen, unsure of what to do. Antonio saw hundreds of eyes staring expectantly at the King, and when the announcer finally realized that the Queen was absent, she nervously asked, fingering with her collar, “W-well, it seems that our Queen is not available… Would His Majesty like to choose another person?”

Antonio watched as Lovino turned to his people, and almost all the ladies started screaming for him to pick them. It was, after all, the only chance they would probably get to dance with their handsome sovereign and none of them wanted to miss out. Lovino’s eyes rested on a gorgeous woman in a scarlet gown, but when she batted her eyelids at him seductively, he quickly looked away and settled on another shy-looking woman in a green dress. He flashed her a winning smile, one Antonio had learnt was saved only for the ladies, and moved forward towards her. The poor girl looked like she was going to faint, and the other women, upon seeing that their King was approaching them, quickly pushed their way to the front and claimed that he had chosen them, and Antonio winced when someone fell, resulting in more screeching and trampling. Lovino soon realized that that was not going to work out, but another look at the announcer confirmed that there was no time to be lost, and he whipped around, scaring Antonio and the other guards.

“Which one of you can dance?” the King asked, his tone holding a hint of menace, as if daring any one of them to lie. Paul and Alexandre both shook their heads, but the way their bodies were quivering from muffled laughter suggested that they were up to something. Lovino’s eyes narrowed when they rested on Antonio, but the Knight could see rising desperation in those eyes, afraid that he would disrupt the celebration his people had so painstakingly organized.

“I can dance, Your Majesty.” Antonio was slightly taken aback by how steady his voice sounded. He had expected himself to squeak or stammer, for he could see what was coming and boy was he stressed. Thank goodness he had had a practice session with Emma once when he had returned for his visit and she had asked him to help her practice for her upcoming school dance.

Lovino did not even reply, he just grabbed Antonio’s arm and headed towards the centre of the square, which had been converted into a dance floor. “I’ll lead, understand? And don’t you dare screw up,” he warned as he forcefully grabbed Antonio’s hand, bending his own elbow and lifting the other’s hand up. Antonio rested his left hand onto the King’s cloth-clad shoulder, suddenly discerning that he was taller than Lovino and trying to adjust to the awkward position. The band, composed of several violinists, cellists and even a harmonicist, all from the people of Aces, began playing a slow, soothing melody, and Antonio felt Lovino’s hand shyly shifting down his back to above his waist, unable to stay at his shoulder blade without feeling discomfort. He lost himself in the feeling, the slight pressure exerted by the shorter man’s palm making his skin prickle in anticipation and his cheeks warm. His throat suddenly felt too dry and his tongue was too stiff and it felt like someone had reached into his brain and crushed whatever that was inside into mush. Slowly, he felt his thoughts start to trickle in from Lovino’s hand on his back to _Lovino_ , who was staring intently at his chest and blushing furiously. Antonio abruptly took in Lovino’s sweaty palms and his shaky steps, finally figuring out that the King was just as nervous as he was.

 _God, he looks like a tomato,_ Antonio mused, the most coherent thought in his muddled brain ever since the music started. The pair glided towards the left, less than gracefully but rather more jerkily, for Lovino’s eyes still remained below Antonio’s face and he seemed like he could barely register where they were moving.

“Your Majesty,” Antonio whispered urgently. When his partner did not respond, Antonio tugged gently at his hand, moving his left leg backwards and leading Lovino to put his right foot in front, easing him into a slight turn of his body. It turned out that Lovino was bad at leading, given the countless times they had crashed into other couples and Antonio had to apologise while Lovino muttered a simple “fuck”, but he was a natural at following and his legs moved as if they had a life of their own. When Antonio stepped back, Lovino moved forwards, and they were soon able to progress across the dance floor, avoiding any further collisions. Despite how Antonio was in the follower’s position, he managed to lead Lovino past the hooting guards, who were sniggering and winking at their fellow colleague. Antonio was feeling more confident of himself, until he felt a sharp pain shoot up from his toes. He grimaced and realized that Lovino had stepped onto his foot.

“What the hell are you doing?” Lovino hissed. “Why are you leading me?”

“No offence, Your Majesty, but I have led you from there–“ Antonio gestured with his chin while sneakily stepping backwards to pull Lovino forwards, “– to here and we bumped into five couples when we started.”

“That’s because you suck at following,” Lovino huffed, his cheeks puffed out and his trademark scowl returned to his face.

“No, _you_ suck at leading,” Antonio retorted immediately. Then, becoming conscious of the fact that he had just answered his King back, quickly added, “Your Majesty.”

“Because you’re a good dancer and have a decent-looking face, I will not throw you into prison for that,” Lovino countered, and Antonio spotted a spark of amusement in the other man’s eyes. “But if you don’t do a fucking good job of l-leading, I will _lock_ your perfect ass up.”

Antonio wasn’t sure he had heard correctly, but it had been enough to make his own face redden further as Lovino flipped his hand over, moving the hand previously on Antonio’s back to Antonio’s palm and landing the other hand harder than it should have on Antonio’s shoulder. The curly-haired male broke into another grin when he saw Lovino blushing even harder.

“I will, Your Majesty. Don’t worry!” Antonio chirped, placing his hand lightly on Lovino’s shoulder blade – unlike previously, it rested there perfectly – and pulled the other closer, crooking his elbow. He continued guiding Lovino across the floor, at one point daringly dropping his right arm and easing Lovino into an underarm turn, which earned himself a “fuck you”. But it felt great dancing with him. It was totally different from when he had danced with Emma; they had not been uncomfortable with the close contact because they had been nothing more than friends, but when he was dancing with Lovino it was strange. Antonio didn’t really know how to explain, but it felt like all of the world and everyone and everything that he knew suddenly disappeared and all that was left was him and Lovino. With Emma, the couch and the lamp had been very much present, but with Lovino, the tens of couples around them had vanished and only the music remained, a symphony urging the pair on. It was wonderfully strange. Or strangely wonderful. Either way, it felt right. Lovino’s fingers in his hand felt soft, and Antonio adjusted his hold on them, the contact sending more tingles down his spine. Yet Antonio felt something was missing, and it was then that it occurred to him that Lovino was still not meeting his eyes. “Look at me, Your Majesty,” he encouraged, voice low and soothing, and he saw the other gradually turn his head, revealing the first bit of brilliant amber that Antonio was suddenly so sure that he could let himself fall into, fall past social classes and new guards and _“Your Majesty”_ into something _much, much_ deeper and a thousand times more wonderful than how the stars were shining that very night. It was suddenly at the tip of his tongue, His Majesty’s name, something everyone had always known but like others he had been forbidden to say it. Sometimes, Antonio felt too reckless for his own good and that moment was unfortunately one of those times. Forbidden was beckoning to him with a perfect, slender finger, and he felt himself mouth it, felt himself form the beginnings of an “L” and finish with a light puff of an “O”.

But then everything was gone when someone screamed.

* * *

 

The next thing Antonio knew, Lovino had pushed him away and was running towards a crumpled form. It was the lady in green Lovino had wanted to approach. She was lying on the floor, her hand to her chest as she hurled blood, staining the floor. Tears streaked down her cheeks as she cried in fear, her face already reddening with rash. All around, people were backing away, afraid of catching the disease and someone banged into the banquet table, sending food careering to the ground. Paul and Alexandre had spun into action, shouting for everyone to get away from the lady and for any doctors to step up. However, from the way everyone was panicking, no one seemed to have heard the men. Lovino was at the collapsed woman’s side, and Antonio saw him reach out for the woman, only to pull back when she shook her head vigorously. He rushed to the pair and was instantly shouted at by Lovino, “Get back! I don’t want you to get infected!”

“But what about you?” Antonio argued, attempting to rush forward again.

“I won’t get infected!” Lovino cried, pulling out the dagger he had kept in his belt for protection and pointing it at Antonio. “Stand back, or I will fucking _stab_ you.”

Antonio took one look at Lovino, golden eyes aflame with a fusion of fury and pain, and instinctively stepped back.

“Get the medicine! Does anyone have the fucking medicine? Anyone?” Unfortunately, a majority of the people was still in shock and merely stood, shaking their heads frantically.

“Fuck!” Antonio heard Lovino curse. “There’s no time, _fuck_.”

The swear word came out as a hiss, as Lovino drew the dagger across his palm roughly, opening up a gash in his skin. The crowd gasped, and Antonio’s heart leapt in disbelief.

“Stop!” He moved forwards again, this time round hearing Alexandre and Paul heading towards them as well.

Lovino was holding his hand over the lady’s mouth, cupping his hand so that the blood flowed past her lips. The lady was struggling to stay still and kept writhing in agony, causing some of Lovino’s blood to drip uselessly onto the ground, and without thinking Antonio dashed towards her and grabbed both her arms. He could already feel her rough skin as the rash emerged, but he held on tightly and ordered her not to move. The other guards got the message and pinned the woman’s legs to the ground. When Antonio looked up at Lovino, he heard a loud crack and his face was turned violently to the side. The pain on his cheek told him that he had just been slapped, and the deep heaving of Lovino’s chest as well as the biting glare he was receiving told him that Lovino had been the one who had given the slap.

“Didn’t I tell you to back the fuck off?” Lovino berated.

Antonio quickly shook the shock from getting slapped away and regained his firm hold on the lady’s limbs, before raising his head and meeting the King’s livid stare, speaking in a voice that was surprisingly calm.

“I don’t know what you’re doing, Your Majesty, but let me tell you–“ Antonio winced as his attempt to smile provoked his stinging cheek. “You’re not alone.”

“We’re here for you, Your Majesty,” Alexandre interjected.

“No matter how many times you tell us to _fuck off_ , we won’t. Because we’re stupid that way,” Antonio resumed, feeling his insides surge with sincerity. “Or maybe it’s just me.”

He could have sworn that he had seen the desperate fire in Lovino’s eyes die down and a grateful smile grace his lips before he ducked his head downwards again.

And Antonio was determined to make that happen again. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur goes to his former mentor for help, only to be attacked by what is left of the wise man he once knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I'm finally back and I apologise for the hiatus. ;_; Anyway, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy this chapter! To be honest I still don't have much confidence portraying Arthur and Alfred so do let me know if I have made them OOC or anything and I will work on my characterization.

Arthur was attacked the moment he stepped through the door.

A form had hurled itself at the Queen, pinning him viciously against the wall and causing his head to slam against the wood. A flash of pain turned Arthur’s vision white momentarily, and he struggled against the strong hands pressing his wrists downwards, only to be met by a snarling face.

Recognition shook him out of his astonishment and he found himself staring into the pale gray eyes of his former mentor. His lips, chapped from the cold he had travelled under, soundlessly formed the word “master” just as he took in the other man’s state. It had been years since Arthur saw his mentor, and he had decided to seek the old man for advice on the disease.  The latter was not a sorcerer (those who could perform magic were extremely rare but most people could name at least one potion-maker or witch – the difference between a potion-maker and a witch was that potion-makers often ran apothecaries while witches created slightly more morbid potions that people bought from time to time to get back at an ex or an old friend) and could not perform magic but his potion-making skills were one of the best in the Kingdom. Arthur knew that his master had stopped taking in apprentices in exchange for a peaceful, potion-free life, but he had thought that perhaps there might have been old recipes he could try. The blond definitely did not expect to see his formerly confident mentor reduced to a hunched and slobbering old man, now devoid of the dark robes he used to don and the tinge of youthful immortality that always tended to linger about him in the past.

The stormy eyes that had once seemed like they carried all the wisdom in the world had deteriorated to mere glass, and from the mouth that used to convey the most complicated of instructions now dripped saliva. Fluids ran down the wrinkled skin, covered in what Arthur had come to know as the marks of the disease – swelled and sticky boils plagued the once strong body, and Arthur thought, _“What happened to him?”_

In a desperate attempt to allay the dread and suspicion that was quickly rising in his chest, Arthur shouted, “Master! Master Wright!” The grip on his wrists only tightened, and the old man leaned in closer, saliva dripping onto Arthur’s suede coat and breath stinging his senses. Arthur could feel his heart hammering in his ribcage and he searched the pair of clouded eyes in vain for any signs of recognition. They remained as blank as ever, but Arthur was not going to give up just yet. The dribble staining his clothing and the acrid breath he was inhaling had led him to a dull acceptance – there was probably no way that he could escape unscathed from the disease now. But he was not going down without a fight, and while his mentor-turned-creature was growling and drooling, Arthur kneed him in the stomach and shoved him away, grabbing the object closest to him – a fallen candelabra – and swinging it around like a weapon.

“It’s me! Arthur.” The old man, who had been pushed to the floor, remained on the ground, chest heaving and emitting low, inhuman noises. Arthur threw caution to the wind and stepped forward, speaking soothingly to the panting man.

“Arthur Kirkland. Queen of Spades. Your former apprentice.” He held on to the rusty metal of the candelabra and inched towards his former master, counting in his head the seconds between each step. The other man seemed to pause his wheezing for a moment, eyes on Arthur yet still seeing through him. The younger man saw this as an opportunity and continued.

“You were a great mentor to me and you taught me many things…” Another step forward.

“You showed me the world, Master.” Heel down, toes descending.

A pang of nostalgia shook Arthur suddenly as he recalled how his master would take him to the woods to pick up the right herbs for the various potions they practiced making. They sold potions that were for the stupidest things – love potions and hair potions – but also for useful reasons. Master Wright taught Arthur how to create potions that could help one remember and forget and potions that could heal. It had seemed that his master had known how to create a  potion for anything, but Arthur had been proven wrong when his master showed him a thick, leather-bound book, explaining that he could not make the potions featured inside because they required magic. According to him, the book contained powerful spells and he had wanted Arthur to take the book to the castle for safe-keeping, only to be refused for the other had seen no point when no one had heard of a sorcerer or sorceress for decades. Since that day onwards, the book remained safely hidden in the secret cellar of the workshop.

Master Wright had been the man Arthur respected the most, and Arthur suddenly recalled how the sun’s rays had bathed the older man’s face in gold on the first day they had met. To ten-year-old Arthur, the other had seemed like an otherworldly being, whose friendly smile was later revealed to be masking high expectations and a demand for discipline. Master Wright had a motto, and it was what he had always told Arthur ever since he had begun his training –

“ _Proposito ante sapientia_ ,” he whispered, crouching gradually to his former mentor’s level. Purpose before wisdom. Master Wright had always emphasized that one had to know his purpose in the world before he could put his knowledge to good use.  

The clouded glass in his eyes seemed to clear and the old man relaxed, tilting his head slightly at Arthur. A whisper slipped past his lips, and Arthur lunged for that single chance, putting his ear close to the other’s face. Master Wright was repeating a single word again and again and through the slurring and hissing Arthur finally made out something: Vargas.

“What about Vargas?” Arthur pressed, mind whirring from all the possible things Master Wright could be referring to.

“Le… Gend… Cure… Deeeeee… Seeeeeease…” The old man let out a giggle of glee; losing the thread of consciousness he had left. His gaze moved to the floor, his chest slowly regaining its rapid rise and fall.

Arthur felt himself losing it too, as he mentally created and eliminated possibilities, until finally two familiar people appeared in his mind – Lovino Vargas’ trademark scowling face and Feliciano Vargas’ sprightly figure.

“What about Lovino and Feliciano?” Arthur snatched up his former mentor’s hands, wringing them up and down as his voice took to a crescendo. “TELL ME, I NEED TO KNOW!”

Immediately, he felt a sharp pain on his forearm and he howled, realizing that Master Wright had bitten him. The old man had scrambled to his feet and was now sniveling and wailing, rushing towards his desk. Arthur felt utter anger and desperation overwhelm him. He had not come all the way to hear a few words that might mean something and then return empty-handed but with the disease now bit by bit wrapping around his body in its dark embrace. He had the people to think about, his subjects to answer to, a Kingdom to rule…

A bright smile. Striking blue eyes. Yes, he had _Alfred_ to go home to. Alfred, who was probably staring out of the window aimlessly again as Yao brought back more and more depressing statistics. Alfred, who was probably gripping onto the curtains as his mind went from a mess to blank helplessness, and then back a jumble again. Alfred, who needed him. For a second, Arthur blamed Alfred for making him go to such lengths but then the hate went back to himself, an arrow flying back to its archer with deadly precision, when he finally admitted that Alfred was the only person he _would_ actually go to such lengths for.

Arthur hated the effect his King had on him. Not many Kings and Queens fell in love, and Arthur did not know whether to consider himself lucky that he always felt the whole room light up whenever Alfred stepped in. They had both been crowned together, and Arthur still remembered that he had been terrified out of his wits.

“Are you scared?” Alfred had whispered into his ear as they stood side by side, both watching but not really listening as Yao gave a speech about the Kingdom’s history and its past Royals, a common part of every Kingdom’s coronation ceremony.

Arthur’s immediate reaction had been a snappy denial that had come out as a result of his innate stubbornness, and Alfred, being incredibly oblivious, had commented, “Whoa, you’re really brave. I’m nervous as hell.”

The passive face Arthur had adopted had transformed into one of minor shock. Alfred had seemed so confident, yet Arthur had been glad that he was not the only one dreading the ceremony.  Could the other blond be as frightened as he was? Arthur felt a tiny bit of sympathy for Alfred at the possibility that he could be just as jittery as himself. A glance at the way Alfred’s fingernails were digging into his palm proved that such a possibility was not highly impossible.

“It’ll be fine. You’re not alone,” Arthur had said quickly with a snort, just as fanfare started playing and Yao brought in the crowns.

“What?” Alfred had yelled, voice muffled out by the blasting of trumpets. “I can’t hear you!”

“I said, you’ll be alright! You should be glad you’re not alone!” Arthur raised his voice over the banging of the drums, annoyed at having to repeat his words.

“Huh? I should be glad I’m not a stone? Of course I am, being a rock would suck!”

And Arthur had not been sure which was worse: having to rule the Kingdom or having to rule the Kingdom _with Alfred_.

Now, he almost wished that he had been a rock and not a man with huge responsibilities and too little time. Arthur rushed after his former master and prepared to tackle the old man from behind when the ill elder spun around and pushed a paper into his face. Garbling incoherently, the old man pointed one crooked finger to the words on the parchment and shoved it into Arthur’s hands. Before Arthur could react, he crumpled and fell to the ground, ruined lungs finally shutting down after making their last attempts to gather oxygen.  Arthur clutched the sheet in his hand and for a few minutes, he stood in the room listening to his own breathing.

Then, eyes never leaving his former mentor’s now permanently glassy eyes, he stumbled backwards towards the door and fell out into the cool night. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Francis receives a letter written by Jeanne and learns of her fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I apologise for not updating for so long but school's starting and therefore I'm still kind of busy. :( But do enjoy this chapter!
> 
> Trigger warning for mentions of suicide. Please let me know if this is triggering for you and I will do my best to change the plot.

_“To my beloved King and Queen…”_

Those six words, written not in Jeanne’s expected careful handwriting but in the barely legible scrawl of someone on the brink of insanity, leapt out at Francis as he held the parchment in his trembling hands. The servant who had brought him the letter shot his King a worried look but was dismissed and left the room quickly. The sound of the door closing made Francis inhale slowly, before he continued.

_“Before I begin, I’d like to apologise for the suddenness of it all but I believe that my actions are justified by the safety of the people. I can only hope that you will be able to forgive this lowly Knight of yours and that my sacrifice will benefit the Kingdom, no matter how insignificantly.”_

The edges of the paper crumpled slightly under Francis’ grip.

_“After I was sent to the hospital, they tried everything on me but nothing worked. While lying in bed, I could feel myself losing it slowly as the pain got worse. I saw new patients entering the hospital every day but I never saw any leaving, save for when they were carried out on carts covered in white sheets. However, I still don’t regret helping the people.”_

The words that followed after that were smudged and Francis’ eyes scanned over them in desperation, as if his sight could reveal them.

_“…knew my time was not far so I decided to do whatever I could to help the people before I ended up being another body carried out. My body grew weaker and weaker but I helped administer medicine in order to prevent more doctors from being infected.”_

More smudged words. Francis gave up.

_“…I had killed someone. I had become a murderer in my insane fit, which I had absolutely no recollection of. The doctors started fearing me and they locked me up like what they do with those starting to lose themselves so as to prevent any further… “Incidents”. I don’t blame them. This disease… It’s nothing like we have seen before. Before I was locked up, I helped talk to the patients who were locked away but after I started becoming dangerous, it was decided that I was in no state to help anyone at all. I felt useless and trapped, and sometimes I would black out only to wake up later realizing that I had clawed out my own hair. My moments of clarity became lesser and lesser, and I felt miserable. Marcus came to visit me once, and I attacked him. I attacked my pupil and from then on I decided that was it.”_

The words became briefly straighter, regaining their loops and curves, as if their writer had had a clear moment of decision.

_“One of the nurses has been particularly kind to me. She was the one who secretly opened the door for Marcus so we could talk. Her name is Mei and I sincerely hope that this disease will not lay its hands on her, like what it did to me. Whenever Mei delivers my food, she always makes the effort to make conversation and I think she has grown to understand me and I have grown to know her too. I asked her to bring me a bottle of poison and that bottle is sitting at my feet as I write. I told her it was to kill the rats that have been sneaking into my room through a hole in the wall and she agreed. Part of me believes she knew that there was no hole and no rats all along, but she had understood._

_I thank you both, Your Majesties, for allowing me to serve the Kingdom as a humble Knight and recently, a mentor to the other Knights. However, I am unable to carry out my duties anymore given my ailing health and I have decided, in order to prevent myself from harming others in my fits of insanity, to take my own life. When I joined the Knights of Diamonds, I was willing to die for the Kingdom and for the people. Today, my will is still as strong as ever. This disease has claimed many lives, but it shall not claim mine. I will pull myself from its clutches and emerge victorious – let this be my final victory, a victory I will gain for the Kingdom. If there is indeed, another life for me, I hope I will be able to serve the Kingdom again but for now, I bid you farewell, and may I be forgiven for my sins.”_

That was it. A single tear cascaded down Francis’ cheek and smudged the messy signature at the bottom of the letter.

The edges held under his thumb were further crumpled mercilessly, as the King experienced inner turmoil – a thousand emotions overcame his heart and the words of a woman he still loved kept on replaying themselves again and again in his head. He could almost hear her voice, the familiar teasing lilt it had whenever she was in battle now gone and replaced with the utter seriousness and urgency of someone who knew she had little time left. He could hear her reciting the words he had just read, adding a double blow to his already aching soul.

Jeanne was gone. Jeanne, whom everyone had known as a strong and fierce warrior and whom Francis had fallen head over heels for the day he saw her with a wooden sword, all poised and gracefully deadly, was gone from the world and all that remained of her were a few memories of the way she smiled, the way she walked and the way she was always putting the world before herself.

Francis sank into his chair, and let the chaos in his heart out. He cried into his own arms as he rested his head onto the table, not caring about whether his sobs could be heard or whether any servants would come running in to see their usually prideful King reduced to such a mess. His wonderful, beautiful Jeanne was gone and though she never loved him, he still felt that a part of his soul had just been taken away by those nasty words on the parchment. He wanted to believe that those words were written in handwriting that was not truly Jeanne’s, but that rather belonged to the extended claws of the disease that ebbed away the Knight’s life.

But the tone was unmistakable. It was the tone of someone who was loyal and selfless, someone whose last thoughts had remained solely on the greater good of the Kingdom, someone who could only be Jeanne.

_“I will pull myself from its clutches and emerge victorious”._

Francis had cried for an hour before he realized that the disease had failed to take her away, after all.

Jeanne had won. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Antonio makes a promise to Emma, and Lovino has a nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! I'm back with Chapter 13! 
> 
> I'm sorry if I made Emma sound really manipulative and whatnot, I wanted to make her extremely overprotective of Lovino, and because she knows that Antonio has feelings for him she's willing to get them closer if it means that Lovino will be safe! I hope it's a legit reason, I needed to come up with a reason behind why Antonio and Lovino will get to spend more time with each other even though Antonio is just his guard.

Antonio was surprised when the Queen summoned him. He hurried over to the balcony overlooking the garden, where the servant had told him Emma was waiting at. A day had passed after the carnival, and Lovino still remained in bed.

_It was a pity_ , Antonio thought. The sun was shining rather brightly that day.

He found Emma sitting at the glass table, sipping her tea while seemingly staring at something in the distance. The fingers on her porcelain cup were shaking as she brought the cup to her lips slowly and a few drops spilt onto her white dress. This drew an immediate reaction from Antonio, who shouted for her. Emma’s head jerked towards him and she took notice of the tea on her garment, stains slowly spreading across the fabric. She set the cup back down onto the table and looked around uselessly for a cloth. Her eyebrows were tight in annoyance, as if the spillage had just been added to her already long list of worries and frustrations.

Antonio could read her expression. Emma was known to have a cheery and easy-going demeanor, but when something was troubling her, it was obvious on her face. He offered to get a towel for her, and the Queen hesitated for a moment before shaking her head and testily refused, “Forget it. Please take a seat.”

The formality perturbed Antonio slightly, but then Emma closed her eyes and exhaled, releasing all her pent-up tension and smiling at her old friend. The usual fire in her jade green eyes that exuded friendliness was only but a faint flicker, and it was then that Antonio realized that there were no other servants with them. Emma had wanted their meeting to be private.

“Is there anything wrong, Your Majesty?” he asked, pulling out the chair opposite Emma’s and sitting down.

Emma leant forward, as if to create an even more personal space between the both of them. Her cat-like smile fell, a façade taken apart to make way for a serious set of lips. “It’s about the King. Lovino.”

Antonio nodded slowly, not sure where their conversation was heading but his curiosity was piqued at the mention of the King. Lovino. It had a really nice ring to it and Antonio suddenly found himself wondering how it would taste on his tongue – what happened at the dance was not enough. It was too little, and Antonio already found himself craving for more.

“He isn’t doing very well, and his body is getting weaker and weaker. Plus, I’ve been receiving letters from the people, all asking about their King. His secret’s out and I’m afraid the other Kingdoms might come to know of it. Consider me paranoid, but I’m scared they will come for him one day. I can’t let that happen,” Emma explained lowly, as if fearing that someone would hear them. Antonio’s eyes, skilled from training, surveyed the area and revealed that there was definitely nobody around.

“I…” Emma started, then paused again to stare at the table, frown deepening in thought. Antonio could tell that she was hiding something, and that she was unsure of whether she could trust him. Her fingernails were clawing at the tablecloth unconsciously, and despite himself, Antonio reached out and placed his hand over hers comfortingly.

“Emma,” he stated kindly, attempting to assuage her fears. This time, he was helping her as a friend, not as someone working under her. “I’m guessing you’re worried about the King. Don’t worry, I’ll do my best to help.”

He felt Emma relax and her eyes, rimmed by dark circles, flashed in gratitude. “I saw the both of you dancing yesterday, and…”

Now, it was Antonio’s turn to tense up. He had lain in bed the night before, attempting to replay the dance in his mind, but all he could see was Lovino rushing towards the fallen woman and slitting his skin open, and then collapsing. Antonio had been overwhelmed by complete panic, and everything else that happened after that was a rush of events. He vaguely recalled him scooping the King up into his arms and carrying him over to the horses. He briefly remembered himself running, limbs powered only by instinct, through the crowd.

“I saw the way you looked at him, Antonio. I know you have feelings for him, so I was wondering if you would like to protect him,” Emma finished. Antonio realized that his normally laidback friend was staring at him with a rare fierceness that somehow betrayed that she was only going to accept one kind of answer.

If Antonio really went and thought about it, he remembered dating a few times, but they had all led to break-ups because everything just had not worked out. He had gone out with both men and women, but the end result had always been the same. Antonio was the kind of person who lived and breathed passion, and all of his past relationships had not been able to burn brightly enough for him. It just had not felt right for any of them. The people whom he had dated had been genuinely nice, but they had just not been _The One_. Antonio wanted to find _The One_ , someone who would be his soulmate. Most people married only just because they were ready, but Antonio was different. He would not settle for anyone except that one person who would be able to make everything feel right – who would be able to make him feel as if all the pieces of the big puzzle that was the universe had fallen into place and that there was no one else he would rather be with.

The dance he had had with Lovino was short, but at the balcony, he could suddenly recall how it had felt – like no one else in the carnival existed besides the two of them, and it felt like the starting spark of something new, something that could possibly kindle a raging fire. He did not know Lovino very well yet, but Antonio wanted to. He wanted to take a chance on Lovino.

 “Protect him? I already am doing that, aren’t I? And so are Alexandre and the others.”

_Okay, maybe that was not the answer Emma had been looking for._

Emma groaned. _Alright, that was definitely not what she had been wanting to hear._

“Yes, but I want you to _really_ protect him. Lovino’s like my brother and we have been through a lot together. I can’t imagine ruling the Kingdom without him and I don’t ever want to see him get hurt. You’re the only person I can truly trust to protect him. Do you understand what I mean?”

Against all odds and the thick-headedness he had that all of the other guards laughed at him at, Antonio understood. Emma wanted him to not only protect Lovino with his life, but with everything he had. “I promise, Emma. Wherever he goes, I will follow, and I will make sure that he returns safely. I will defend him to my last breath and I won’t let anyone, King or commoner, lay a finger on him.”

He finished with a determined nod, giving Emma’s delicate hand a light but firm squeeze, sealing the pact. “I promise you, Emma.”

Emma’s eyes were watery as she nodded back, now less burdened. “I know you do. Thank you, Toni.”

Antonio smiled at the old nickname. He had not heard that from her in years.

“You should probably go back to doing your duties,” she told him, and he stood up in acknowledgment.

“Goodbye, Your Majesty,” he bided. Their conversation had ended, and that signaled the return of formality. However, just as Antonio turned to leave, Emma called out after him, “You have my approval, by the way!”

His look of confusion was only met by an innocent shrug.

 

* * *

 

Emma leant back against the chair, heaving a sigh of relief. Her plan had gone well. She had grown up with Antonio, and she knew that once he loved someone or found a worthy cause, he would go all out to fight for them and she had observed the pair at the carnival. Antonio had behaved as though Lovino was the only person worth looking at in the crowd and she had seen that all of his attention, and his being, had been fixated on Lovino and Lovino only. She had seen the way his eyes had softened and shone with thinly-veiled adoration, the beginnings of what his feelings would blossom into.

And Lovino – though the King was not extremely confident of himself, he had never acted that shy and whenever Antonio turned to steer them in another direction, she had noticed Lovino sneaking glances at his partner. There had been chemistry between the both of them. Emma was sure of it. Which was why she now wanted the both of them to bond. She did not care about what others would think of her or of Lovino or Antonio; she only cared about Lovino’s safety and she had seen an opportunity to ensure that.

One trait that Antonio and Lovino shared was that once they had they were bent on doing something, no one could stop them, so the best she could do was to ensure that that _something_ for Antonio was protecting Lovino, in case the latter ever intended to do something stupidly noble. Yes, Lovino did stupidly noble things all the time, even though it always seemed like he did not care on the outside. It made Emma feel manipulative, but she hoped that her friends would be happy anyway, since it was obvious that their relationship could be developed further.

Emma picked up the teacup again, realizing that her tea had turned cold.  

 

* * *

 

Lovino was running for his life. He was darting across the familiar cobblestoned streets of his Kingdom, the lanterns stringed across balconies the too-known symbols of the carnival. His legs acted like they had a mind of their own, one flying in front of the other based on pure fear. Sweat trickled down his neck and his clothing stuck to his skin, but Lovino was not deterred by the numbness slowly encasing his body and the fatigue overcoming his mind. The only thing he knew was to _run, run, run_ , because he was in danger and if he did not run he would –

“Please help us, Your Majesty!”

_He was not going to turn back, he was not going to turn back, he was not –_

Lovino peered over his shoulder. The horde of people – his people – who had been chasing him had stopped, and out stepped a single lady. It was the lady he had saved at the carnival, the lady in the emerald dress who had collapsed. She was dragging her feet forward slowly, reaching one rotten arm out towards Lovino. The King, who had stopped fleeing, took a few steps back in caution.

“You failed to save us,” the lady moaned, her voice sad as if it had come from the depths of her ailing heart. She fell to her knees, as more boils appeared on her skin, bursting and emitting pus.

_No, they can’t appear that quickly it normally takes a while –_

“You’re not doing enough, Your Majesty.” She was pulling herself forwards, fingernails digging into the holes between the bricks. “You’re not doing enough.”

“What are you talking about? I saved you, I saw you get better I saw you stand back up –“ Lovino’s backtracking was stopped when he bumped into something soft.

“That’s wrong, my King. You didn’t save us.” Lovino spun around, chest heaving in fear. He was panicking more than ever and his mind had become blank, until he took in the face before him.

It was the old woman he had given his cloak to. She seemed worse than she had been when he had seen her: her frame had gotten even more skinnier and half her face had rotted away. Lovino could see her jawbone. At her feet, tugging at Lovino’s pants, was her grandson. His eyeballs were missing, leaving only empty sockets that kept on spilling blood onto the ground, onto Lovino’s shoes, _everywhere_ –

Lovino screamed.

His muscles tensed up and he bent forwards, ready to bolt off, when he realized that he could not move. He looked back down, only to see that all of the people were grabbing at his legs, their sockets now empty and their faces groaning not his title, but his name.

“Lovino…” they wailed, their cries similar to nails on a chalkboard and their fingers scrabbling over his skin. They were piled up on top of each other, a massive, writhing pile. Scratches had appeared on Lovino’s flesh, and he could not move no matter how much he tried. He remained rooted to the ground by his people, and all he could do was scream and scream for it all to stop.

“Stop! Please! I tried, I swear, I tried…” Lovino started sobbing, fresh tears streaming down his already grimy face and mixing with snot and sweat. _I can’t do this, I can’t –_

“Lovino!” Someone was shouting his name, and it rang out clear in the mess. Lovino snapped to attention, eyes searching the area desperately. It was Antonio. _Wait, what?_ He was standing on the stage ( _Where did that come from?_ ) and waving vigorously at Lovino, dressed in his usual surcoat.

“Take my hand!” The Knight yelled, bending over the edge of the stage and extending his hand out.

_Fuck, he’s too far away._

“I can’t! You’re too far away!”

“You can do it, Lovino! Just try!” Antonio smiled in that familiar way of his, his lips spreading encouragingly.

“I can’t fucking move! I can’t do it!” Lovino screamed back. To his horror, his skin had started turning a swollen red.

“Shit HELP ME!” He wanted to kick at the people; wanted to swipe at them and escape, but all of his urges merely remained unanswered by his body, persistently pushing to no avail.

“You have to believe in yourself! Faith is the only thing you need!”

Lovino was too caught up to curse at Antonio. Instead, he only nodded helplessly and squeezed his eyelids shut. He could feel his arms aching as boils broke the surface of his flesh, but he kept on repeating to himself, “I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.”

And he finally lifted his arm. Instantly, he felt someone grabbing his elbow firmly, pulling him forwards. The pressure holding him down suddenly vanished, and when Lovino reopened his eyes, he was staring at none other than the face of Antonio.

“Be careful, Your Majesty,” Antonio chided kindly, and Lovino stood up straight again, only to be pulled towards the right. Confused golden eyes flitted around the surroundings, and he saw that he was at the carnival. Panic seized his heart momentarily, until he realized that the people around him were dancing and there was no one with bloody faces and gouged-out eyeballs. It was only then that Lovino realized that he was also dancing. With Antonio.

_Oh._

At that moment, he realized that his hand was clasped in Antonio’s and he felt his cheeks warm at the feeling of Antonio’s other hand just below his shoulder blade. He let himself get swayed sideways, mind lagging behind and still recovering from the shock earlier on, and glanced at his partner.

He was surprised when he saw that Antonio had been staring at him. There was something off about Antonio, however. His usually cheerful bottle green eyes shone with a much deeper intensity and his huge ever-present grin was gone, replaced by a small and pensive curl of his lips that hid whatever was on his mind. The seriousness of his expression unsettled Lovino a little.

“Hey, urm. Are you okay?”

Antonio did not answer his question, but instead leant forward and whispered into his ear, voice tinged with something different that sent an unexpected shiver down Lovino’s spine. “Would you like to move to somewhere more _private_ , Your Majesty?”

The way he said “Your Majesty” had none of the respect and reverence that others had when they said it, but had a teasing lilt to it instead. Lovino could not deny that he quite liked the way Antonio had said it. He did not remember nodding, and only remembered being led away from the crowd and into an alley, before he felt himself being pinned against the wall, his arms pushed against the hard concrete. Antonio leant over him, his face visible only due to the dim lights hanging above. Alone with him, Lovino caught the smell of sweat on Antonio, but he could also smell the castle’s stables and a hint of something spicy that for some reason made the blood in his veins feel hotter. Both of them were panting lightly, and Lovino watched as Antonio’s eyes swept him over downwards, before returning to his face and settling on his lips. Lovino squirmed weakly, his mind telling him that it was _definitely not a good idea to be this close to Antonio,_ but his body was tensed up and impatient, as if expecting something.

Something that if he dug into the depths of his mind, was something he wanted. _Well, damn the boundaries. Damn it all._

Antonio licked his lips. Once, then twice. Lovino looked away, blushing, suddenly incredibly self-conscious. He could already feel his blood rushing to a certain somewhere, and he could not look Antonio in the eye. 

“Look at me, Your Majesty.” Those words felt familiar, and Lovino tried to grasp at the fleeting memory but failed. He responded to the surprising gentleness in Antonio’s voice, much like the way he was held at the dance earlier, by shyly turning back, only to feel another pair of lips crashing against his.

Lovino’s first reaction was to slam his head forwards.

* * *

 

“OUCH!”

“Oh my God, are you okay?” Emma.

“Yeah, I think I’m alright hahaha…”

Lovino’s eyes shot open. He realized he was lying on his bed, and the first thing he saw was Emma, rushing forwards with a worried expression on her face.

“Lovino! You’re awake!” She grabbed both his shoulders and shook the sleep out of his eyes, but it only made his head feel like it was going to split into two.

“Cut it out, Emma…” Lovino groaned, groggy vision focusing on the room around him. He took in the mirror, the bedside table, the small portrait of him and Feliciano, Antonio... 

Wait. What the fuck?

Lovino pointed one finger accusingly at Antonio, who was standing at the corner of the room rubbing his head. “What the heck is he doing here?”  

**Author's Note:**

> ... And that's all for now! Do comment and let me know if I should continue! ^J^ I hope you have a nice day!


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